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NEWS    FROM    NOWHERE; 

OR, 

AN   EPOCH    OF  REST. 


LABOUR'S    MAY- DAY. 


NEWS   FROM    NOWHERE 


OR 


AN  EPOCH    OF   REST 

BEING   SOME   CHAPTERS   FROM 

A  UTOPIAN    ROMANCE 

BY 

WILLIAM   MORRIS 

AUTHOR    OF   "THE    EARTHLY    PARADISE" 


NEW  IMPRESSION 


LONGMANS,   GREEN,   AND    CO. 

91  and  93  FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW   YORK 

LONDON    AND    BOMBAY 

I90I 


Author's  Edition. 


2EntbtTsitg  ^ress: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


CONTENTS. 


w\  orin 


CHAPTKB  PAS* 

I.    Discussion  and  Bed 7 

II.    A  Morning  Bath 11 

III.  The    Guest-House  and   Breakfast 

Therein 22 

IV.  A  Market  by  the  Wat 35 

V.    Children  on  the  Road 40 

VI.     A  Little  Shopping 50 

VII.     Trafalgar  Square 60 

VIII.     An  Old  Friend 68 

IX.    Concerning  Love 73 

X.    Questions  and  Answers 88 

XL     Concerning  Government      ....  104 
XII.     Concerning   the    Arrangement    of 

Life 110 

XIII.  Concerning  Politics 118 

XIV.  How  Matters  are  Managed   .     .     .  119 
XV.     On  the  Lack  of  Incentive  to  Labor 

in  a  Communist  Society   ....  126 
XVI.     Dinner  in  the  Hall  of  the  Blooms- 
bury  Market 137 

XVII.    How  the  Change  Came 143 

XVIII.     The  Beginning  of  the  New  Life    .  173 


VI 

CHAPTER 

XIX. 
XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 
XXVII. 

xxvin. 

XXIX. 
XXX. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Drive  Back  to  Hammersmith  .  180 
The      Hammersmith      Guest-House 

Again 187 

Going  Up  the  River 189 

Hampton  Court  :  and  a  Praiser  of 

Past  Times 193 

An  Early  Morning  by  Runnymede.  206 

Up  the  Thames:   the  Second  Day.  213 

Still  Up  the  Thames 225 

The  Upper  Waters 231 

A    Resting-Place     on    the    Upper 

Thames 250 

The  Journey's  End 256 

An  Old  House  Among  New  Folk    .  264 

The  Feast's  Beginning  :    The  End  .  271 


KEWS    FEOM    NOWHEKE; 


OR, 


AN   EPOCH   OF   REST. 


CHAPTER    I. 

DISCUSSION   AND    BED. 

UP  at  the  League,  says  a  friend,  there  had  been 
one  night  a  brisk  conversational  discussion, 
as  to  what  would  happen  on  the  Morrow  of  the 
Revolution,  —  finally  shading  off  into  a  vigorous 
statement  by  various  friends  of  their  views  on  the 
future  of  the  fully  developed  new  society. 

Says  our  friend :  Considering  the  subject,  the 
discussion  was  good-tempered;  for  those  present, 
being  used  to  public  meetings  and  after-lecture  de- 
bates, if  they  did  not  listen  to  each  others'  opinions 
(which  could  scarcely  be  expected  of  them),  at  all 
events  did  not  always  attempt  to  speak  all  to- 
gether, as  is  the  custom  of  people  in  ordinary 
polite  society  when  conversing  on  a  subject  which 
interests  them.  For  the  rest,  there  were  six  per- 
sons present,  and  consequently  six  sections  of  the 
party  were  represented,  four  of  which  had  strong 
but  divergent  Anarchist  opinions.     One  of  the  sec- 


8  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

tions,  says  our  friend,  a  man  whom  he  knows  very 
well  indeed,  sat  almost  silent  at  the  beginning  of 
the  discussion,  but  at  last  got  drawn  into  it,  and 
finished  by  roaring  out  very  loud,  and  damning  all 
the  rest  for  fools;  after  which  befell  a  period  of 
noise  and  then  a  lull,  during  which  the  aforesaid 
section,  having  said  good-night  very  amicably,  took 
his  way  home  by  himself  to  a  western  suburb, 
using  the  means  of  travelling  which  civilization 
has  forced  upon  us  like  a  habit.  As  he  sat  in  that 
vapor-bath  of  hurried  and  discontented  humanity,  a 
carriage  of  the  underground  railway,  he,  like  others 
stewed  discontentedly,  while  in  self-reproachful 
mood  he  turned  over  the  many  excellent  and  con- 
clusive arguments  which,  though  they  lay  in  his 
fingers'  end,  he  had  forgotten  in  the  just  past  dis- 
cussion. But  this  frame  of  mind  he  was  so  used 
to  that  it  did  n't  last  him  long,  and  after  a  brief 
discomfort,  caused  by  disgust  with  himself  for 
having  lost  his  temper  (which  he  was  also  well 
used  to),  he  found  himself  musing  on  the  subject- 
matter  of  discussion,  but  still  discontentedly  and 
unhappily.  "If  I  could  but  see  a  day  of  it,"  he 
said  to  himself ;  "  if  I  could  but  see  it ! " 

As  he  formed  the  words,  the  train  stopped  at  his 
station,  five  minutes'  walk  from  his  own  house, 
which  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  a  little 
way  above  an  ugly  suspension  bridge.  He  went 
out  of  the  station,  still  discontented  and  unhappy, 
muttering,  "If  I  could  but  see  it!  if  I  could  but 
see  it ! "  but  had  not  gone  many  steps  towards  the 
river  before  (says  our  friend  who  tells  the  story) 
all  that  discontent  and  trouble  seemed  to  slip 
off  him. 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  9 

It  was  a  beautiful  night  of  early  winter,  the  air 
just  sharp  enough  to  be  refreshing  after  the  hot 
room  and  the  stinking  railway  carriage.  The  wind, 
which  had  lately  turned  a  point  or  two  north  of 
west,  had  blown  the  sky  clear  of  all  cloud  save  a 
light  fleck  or  two  which  went  swiftly  down  the 
heavens.  There  was  a  young  moon  halfway  up  the 
sky,  and  as  the  homefarer  caught  sight  of  it,  tangled 
in  the  branches  of  a  tall  old  elm,  he  could  scarce 
bring  to  his  mind  the  shabby  London  suburb  where 
he  was,  and  he  felt  as  if  he  were  in  a  pleasant 
country  place,  —  pleasanter,  indeed,  than  the  deep 
country  was  as  he  had  known  it. 

He  came  right  down  to  the  river-side,  and  lin- 
gered a  little,  looking  over  the  low  wall  to  note  the 
moonlit  river,  near  upon  high  water,  go  swirling 
and  glittering  up  to  Chiswick  Eyott ;  as  for  the 
ugly  bridge  below,  he  did  not  notice  it  or  think  of 
it,  except  when  for  a  moment  (says  our  friend)  it 
struck  him  that  he  missed  the  row  of  lights  down- 
stream. Then  he  turned  to  his  house  door  and  let 
himself  in ;  and  even  as  he  shut  the  door  to,  disap- 
peared all  remembrance  of  that  brilliant  logic  and 
foresight  which  had  so  illuminated  the  recent  dis- 
cussion ;  and  of  the  discussion  itself  there  remained 
no  trace,  save  a  vague  hope,  that  was  now  become 
a  pleasure,  for  days  of  peace  and  rest,  and  clean- 
ness and  smiling  goodwill. 

In  this  mood  he  tumbled  into  bed,  and  fell  asleep 
after  his  wont,  in  two  minutes'  time ;  but  (contrary 
to  his  wont)  woke  up  again  not  long  after  in  that 
curiously  wide-awake  condition  which  sometimes 
surprises  even  good  sleepers,  —  a  condition  under 
which  we  feel  all  our  wits  preternaturally  sharp- 


10  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

ened,  while  all  the  miserable  muddles  we  have  ever 
got  into,  all  the  disgraces  and  losses  of  our  lives, 
will  insist  on  thrusting  themselves  forward  for  the 
consideration  of  those  sharpened  wits. 

In  this  state  he  lay  (says  our  friend)  till  he  had 
almost  begun  to  enjoy  it,  —  till  the  tale  of  his  stu- 
pidities amused  him,  and  the  entanglements  before 
him,  which  he  saw  so  clearly,  began  to  shape  them- 
selves into  an  amusing  story  for  him. 

He  heard  one  o'clock  strike,  then  two,  and  then 
three ;  after  which  he  fell  asleep  again.  Our  friend 
says  that  from  that  sleep  he  awoke  once  more,  and 
afterwards  went  through  such  surprising  adven- 
tures that  he  thinks  that  they  should  be  told  to 
our  comrades  of  the  League,  and  therefore  proposes 
to  tell  them  now.  But,  says  he,  I  think  it  would 
be  better  if  I  told  them  in  the  first  person,  as  if  it 
were  myself  who  had  gone  through  them  ;  which, 
indeed,  will  be  the  easier  and  more  natural  to  me, 
since  I  understand  the  feelings  and  desires  of  the 
comrade  I  am  telling  of  better  than  any  one  else  in 
the  world  does. 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   KEST.  11 


CHAPTER  II. 

A   MORNING   BATH. 

WELL,  I  awoke,  and  found  that  I  had  kicked 
my  bedclothes  off ;  and  no  wonder,  for  it 
was  hot  and  the  sun  shining  brightly.  I  jumped 
up  and  washed  and  hurried  on  my  clothes,  but  in  a 
hazy  and  half-awake  condition,  as  if  I  had  slept  for 
a  long,  long  while,  and  could  not  shake  off  the 
weight  of  slumber.  In  fact,  I  rather  took  it  for 
granted  that  I  was  at  home  in  my  own  room  than 
saw  that  it  was  so. 

When  I  was  dressed  I  felt  the  place  so  hot  that 
I  made  haste  to  get  out  of  the  room  and  out  of  the 
house ;  and  my  first  feeling  was  a  delicious  relief 
caused  by  the  fresh  air  and  pleasant  breeze;  my 
second,  as  I  began  to  gather  my  wits  together,  mere 
measureless  wonder;  for  it  was  winter  when  I 
went  to  bed  the  last  night,  and  now,  by  witness  of 
the  river-side  trees,  it  was  summer,  —  a  beautiful 
bright  morning  seemingly  of  early  June.  However, 
there  was  still  the  Thames  sparkling  under  the 
sun,  and  near  high  water,  as  last  night  I  had  seen 
it  gleaming  under  the  moon. 

I  had  by  no  means  shaken  off  the  feeling  of  op- 
pression, and  wherever  I  might  have  been  should 
scarce  have  been  quite  conscious  of  the  place ;  so 
it  was  no  wonder  that  I  felt  rather  puzzled  in 
despite  of  the  familiar  face  of  the  Thames.   Withal 


12  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

I  felt  dizzy  and  queer;  and  remembering  that 
people  often  got  a  boat  and  had  a  swim  in  mid- 
stream, I  thought  I  would  do  no  less.  It  seems 
very  early,  quoth  I  to  myself,  but  I  daresay  I  shall 
find  some  one  at  Biffen's  to  take  me.  However,  I 
didn't  get  as  far  as  Biffen's,  or  even  turn  to  my 
left  thitherward,  because  just  then  I  began  to  see 
that  there  was  a  landing-stage  right  before  me  in 
front  of  my  house ;  in  fact,  on  the  place  where  my 
next-door  neighbor  had  rigged  one  up,  though  some- 
how it  did  n't  look  like  it  either.  Down  I  went  on 
to  it,  and  sure  enough  among  the  empty  boats 
moored  to  it  lay  a  man  on  his  sculls  in  a  solid 
looking  tub  of  a  boat  clearly  meant  for  bathers. 
He  nodded  to  me,  and  bade  me  good-morning  as  if 
he  expected  me ;  so  I  jumped  in  without  any  words, 
and  he  paddled  away  quietly  as  I  peeled  for  my 
swim.  As  we  went,  I  looked  down  on  the  water, 
and  could  n't  help  saying,  — 

"  How  clear  the  water  is  this  morning  ! " 

"Is  it?"  said  he;  "I  didn't  notice  it.  You 
know  the  flood-tide  always  thickens  it  a  bit." 

"  H'm,"  said  I,  "  I  have  seen  it  pretty  muddy 
even  at  half-ebb." 

He  said  nothing  in  answer,  but  seemed  rather 
astonished ;  and  as  he  now  lay  just  stemming  the 
tide,  and  I  had  my  clothes  off,  I  jumped  in  without 
more  ado.  Of  course  when  I  had  my  head  above 
water  again  I  turned  towards  the  tide ;  and  my  eyes 
naturally  sought  for  the  bridge,  and  so  utterly 
astonished  was  I  by  what  I  saw  that  I  forgot  to 
strike  out,  and  went  spluttering  under  water  again, 
aud  when  I  came  up  made  straight  for  the  boat ; 
for  I  felt  that  I  must  ask  some  questions  of  my 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  13 

waterman,  so  bewildering  had  been  the  half-sight  I 
had  seen  from  the  face  of  the  river  with  the  water 
hardly  out  of  my  eyes ;  though  by  this  time  I  was 
quit  of  the  slumbrous  and  dizzy  feeling,  and  was 
wide-awake  and  clear-headed. 

As  I  got  in,  up  the  steps  which  he  had  lowered, 
and  he  held  out  his  hand  to  help  me,  we  went 
drifting  speedily  up  towards  Chiswick ;  but  now 
he  caught  up  the  sculls  and  brought  her  head  round 
again,  and  said,  — 

"  A  short  swim,  neighbor ;  but  perhaps  you  find 
the  water  cold  this  morning,  after  your  journey. 
Shall  I  put  you  ashore  at  once,  or  would  you  like 
to  go  down  to  Putney  before  breakfast  ?  " 

He  spoke  in  a  way  so  unlike  what  I  should  have 
expected  from  a  Hammersmith  waterman  that  I 
stared  at  him  as  I  answered,  "  Please  to  hold  her 
a  little  ;  I  want  to  look  about  me  a  bit." 

"  All  right,"  he  said ;  "  it 's  no  less  pretty  in  its 
way  here  than  it  is  off  Barn  Elms  ;  it 's  jolly  every- 
where this  time  in  the  morning.  I  'm  glad  you  got 
up  early ;  it 's  barely  five  o'clock  yet." 

If  I  was  astonished  with  my  sight  of  the  river 
banks,  I  was  no  less  astonished  at  my  waterman, 
now  that  I  had  time  to  look  at  him  and  see  him 
with  my  head  and  eyes  clear. 

He  was  a  handsome  young  fellow,  with  a  pecu- 
liarly pleasant  and  friendly  look  about  his  eyes,  — 
an  expression  which  was  quite  new  to  me  then, 
though  I  soon  became  familiar  with  it.  For  the 
rest,  he  was  dark-haired  and  berry-brown  of  skin, 
well-knit  and  strong,  and  obviously  used  to  exer- 
cising his  muscles,  but  with  nothing  rough  or 
coarse   about  him,  and   clean   as   might  be.     His 


14  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

dress  was  not  like  any  modern  work-a-day  clothes 
I  had  seen,  but  would  have  served  very  well  as  a 
costume  for  a  picture  of  fourteenth-century  life ; 
it  was  of  dark  blue  cloth,  simple  enough,  but  of 
fine  web,  and  without  a  stain  on  it.  He  had  a 
brown  leather  belt  round  his  waist,  and  I  noticed 
that  its  clasp  was  of  damascened  steel  beautifully 
wrought.  In  short,  he  seemed  to  me  like  some 
specially  manly  and  refined  young  gentleman,  play- 
ing waterman  for  a  spree,  and  I  concluded  that 
this  was  the  case. 

I  felt  that  I  must  make  some  conversation;  so 
I  pointed  to  the  Surrey  bank,  where  I  noticed 
some  light  plank  stages  running  down  the  fore- 
shore, with  windlasses  at  the  landward  end  of 
them,  and  said,  "What  are  they  doing  with  those 
things  here  ?  If  we  were  on  the  Tay,  I  should 
have  said  that  they  were  for  drawing  the  salmon- 
nets;  but  here  —  " 

"  Well,"  said  he  smiling,  "  of  course  that  is  what 
they  are  for.  Where  there  are  salmon,  there  are 
likely  to  be  salmon-nets,  Tay  or  Thames ;  but  of 
course  they  are  not  always  in  use ;  we  don't  want 
salmon  every  day  of  the  season." 

I  was  going  to  say,  "  But  is  this  the  Thames  ?  " 
but  held  my  peace  in  my  wonder,  and  turned  my 
bewildered  eyes  eastward  to  look  at  the  bridge 
again,  and  thence  to  the  shores  of  the  London 
river ;  and  surely  there  was  enough  to  astonish 
me.  For  though  there  was  a  bridge  across  the 
stream  and  houses  on  its  banks,  how  all  was 
changed  from  last  night!  The  soap-works  with 
their  smoke-vomiting  chimneys  were  gone ;  the 
engineer's  works  gone  ;  the  lead-works  gone  ;  and 


OR,   AN   EPOCH    OF   REST.  15 

no  sound  of  riveting  and  hammering  came  down 
the  west  wind  from  Thorneycroft's.  Then  the 
bridge  !  I  had  perhaps  dreamed  of  such  a  bridge, 
but  never  seen  such  an  one  out  of  an  illuminated 
manuscript ;  for  not  even  the  Ponte  Vecchio  at 
Florence  came  anywhere  near  it.  It  was  of  stone 
arches,  splendidly  solid,  and  as  graceful  as  they 
were  strong ;  high  enough  also  to  let  ordinary 
river  traffic  through  easily.  Over  the  parapet 
showed  quaint  and  fanciful  little  buildings,  which  I 
supposed  to  be  booths  or  shops,  beset  with  painted 
and  gilded  vanes  and  spirelets.  The  stone  was  a 
little  weathered,  but  showed  no  marks  of  the  grimy 
sootiness  which  I  was  used  to  on  every  London 
building  more  than  a  year  old,  —  in  short,  to  me  a 
wonder  of  a  bridge. 

The  sculler  noted  my  eager,  astonished  look,  and 
said,  as  if  in  answer  to  my  thoughts,  — 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  pretty  bridge,  isn't  it  ?  Even  the 
up-stream  bridges,  which  are  so  much  smaller,  are 
scarcely  daintier,  and  the  down-stream  ones  are 
scarcely  more  dignified  and  stately." 

I  found  myself  saying,  almost  against  my  will, 
"  How  old  is  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  very  old,"  he  said ;  "  it  was  built,  or  at 
least  opened,  in  1971." 

The  date  shut  my  mouth  as  if  a  key  had  been 
turned  in  a  padlock  fixed  to  my  lips ;  for  I  saw 
that  something  inexplicable  had  happened,  and 
that  if  I  said  much  I  should  be  mixed  up  in  a 
game  of  cross-questions  and  crooked  answers.  So 
I  tried  to  look  unconcerned,  and  to  glance  in  a 
matter-of-course  way  at  the  banks  of  the  river, 
though  this  is  what  I  saw  up  to  the  bridge  and  a 


16  NEWS    FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

little  beyond,  say  as  far  as  the  site  of  the  soap- 
works.  Both  shores  had  a  line  of  very  pretty 
houses,  low  and  not  large,  standing  back  a  little 
way  from  the  river ;  they  were  mostly  built  of  red 
brick  and  roofed  with  tiles,  and  looked,  above  all, 
comfortable  and  as  if  they  were,  so  to  say,  alive, 
and  sympathetic  with  the  life  of  the  dwellers  in 
them.  There  was  a  continuous  garden  in  front 
of  them,  going  down  to  the  water's  edge,  in  which 
the  flowers  were  now  blooming  luxuriantly,  and 
sending  delicious  waves  of  summer  scent  over  the 
eddying  stream.  Behind  the  houses  I  could  see 
great  trees  rising,  mostly  planes,  and  looking  down 
the  water  there  were  the  reaches  towards  Putney 
almost  as  if  they  were  a  lake  with  a  forest  shore, 
so  thick  were  the  big  trees ;  and  I  said  aloud,  but 
as  if  to  myself,  — 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  that  they  have  not  built  over 
Barn  Elms." 

I  blushed  for  my  fatuity  as  the  words  slipped 
out  of  my  mouth,  and  my  companion  looked  at 
me  with  a  half-smile  which  I  thought  I  under- 
stood; so  to  hide  my  confusion  I  said,  "Please 
take  me  ashore  now ;  I  want  to  get  my  breakfast." 

He  nodded,  and  brought  her  head  round  with  a 
sharp  stroke,  and  in  a  trice  we  were  at  the  landing- 
stage  again.  He  jumped  out,  and  I  followed  him ; 
and  of  course  I  was  not  surprised  to  see  him  wait, 
as  if  for  the  inevitable  after-piece  that  follows 
the  doing  of  a  service  to  a  fellow-citizen.  So  I 
put  my  hand  into  my  waistcoat-pocket,  and  said, 
"  How  much  ?  "  though  still  with  the  uncomfort- 
able feeling  that  perhaps  I  was  offering  money  to 
a  gentleman. 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  17 

He  looked  puzzled,  and  said,  "  How  much  ?  I 
don't  quite  understand  what  you  are  asking  about. 
Do  you  mean  the  tide  ?  If  so,  it  is  close  on  the 
turn  now." 

I  blushed,  and  said,  stammering,  "Please  don't 
take  it  amiss  if  I  ask  you  —  I  mean  no  offence  ; 
but  what  ought  I  to  pay  you  ?  You  see  I  am  a 
stranger,  and  don't  know  your  customs  —  or  your 
coins." 

And  therewith  I  took  a  handful  of  money  out  of 
my  pocket,  as  one  does  in  a  foreign  country.  And 
by  the  way,  I  saw  that  the  silver  had  oxidized, 
was  like  a  blackleaded  stove  in  color. 

He  still  seemed  puzzled,  but  not  at  all  offended ; 
and  he  looked  at  the  coins  with  some  curiosity.  I 
thought,  Well,  after  all,  he  is  a  waterman,  and  is 
considering  what  he  may  venture  to  take.  He 
seems  such  a  nice  fellow  that  I  'm  sure  I  don't 
grudge  him  a  little  over-payment.  I  wonder,  by 
the  way,  whether  I  could  n't  hire  him  as  a  guide 
for  a  day  or  two,  since  he  is  so  intelligent. 

Therewith  my  new  friend  said  thoughtfully,  — 

"I  think  I  know  what  you  mean.  You  think 
that  I  have  done  you  a  service ;  so  you  feel  your- 
self bound  to  give  me  something  which  I  am  not 
to  give  to  a  neighbor,  unless  he  has  done  some- 
thing special  for  me.  I  have  heard  of  this  kind 
of  thing ;  but  pardon  me  for  saying  that  it  seems 
to  us  a  troublesome  and  roundabout  custom;  and 
we  don't  know  how  to  manage  it.  And  you  see 
this  ferrying  and  giving  people  casts  about  the 
water  is  my  business,  which  I  would  do  for  any- 
body, so  to  take  gifts  in  connection  with  it  would 
look  very  queer.     Besides,  if  one  parson  gave  me 

2 


18  NEWS    FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

something,  then  another  might,  and  another,  and 
so  on  ;  and  I  hope  you  won't  think  me  rude  if  I 
say  that  I  should  n't  know  where  to  stow  away 
so  many  mementos  of  friendship." 

And  he  laughed  loud  and  merrily,  as  if  the 
idea  of  being  paid  for  his  work  was  a  very  funny 
joke.  I  confess  I  began  to  be  afraid  that  the  man 
was  mad,  though  he  looked  sane  enough ;  and  I 
was  rather  glad  to  think  that  I  was  a  good  swim- 
mer, since  we  were  so  close  to  a  deep,  swift  stream. 
However,  he  went  on  by  no  means  like  a  madman : 

"  As  to  your  coins,  they  are  curious,  but  not  very 
old ;  they  seem  to  be  all  of  the  reign  of  Victoria ; 
you  might  give  them  to  some  scantily  furnished 
museum.  Ours  has  enough  of  such  coins,  besides 
a  fair  number  of  earlier  ones,  many  of  which  are 
beautiful,  whereas  these  nineteenth-century  ones 
are  so  beastly  ugly,  ain't  they  ?  We  have  a  piece 
of  Edward  III.,  with  the  king  in  a  ship,  and  little 
leopards  and  fleurs-de-lis  all  along  the  gunwale,  so 
delicately  worked.  You  see,"  he  said,  with  some- 
what of  a  smirk,  "  I  am  fond  of  working  in  gold 
and  fine  metals  ;  this  buckle  here  is  an  early  piece 
of  mine." 

No  doubt  I  looked  a  little  shy  of  him  under  the 
influence  of  that  doubt  as  to  his  sanity.  So  he 
broke  off  short,  and  said  in  a  kind  voice, — 

"  But  I  see  that  I  am  boring  you,  and  I  ask  your 
pardon.  For,  not  to  mince  matters,  I  can  tell  that 
3tou  are  a  stranger,  and  must  come  from  a  place 
very  uidike  England.  But  also  it  is  clear  that  it 
won't  do  to  overdose  you  with  information  about 
this  place,  and  that  you  had  best  suck  it  in  little  by 
little.    Further,  I  should  take  it  as  \eiy  kind  in 


OR,  AN  EPOCH  OF  REST.  19 

you  if  you  would  allow  me  to  be  the  showman  of 
our  new  world  to  you,  since  you  have  stumbled  on 
me  first,  —  though  indeed  it  will  be  a  mere  kind- 
ness on  your  part,  for  almost  anybody  would  make 
as  good  a  guide,  and  many  much  better." 

There  certainly  seemed  no  flavor  in  him  of 
Colney  Hatch ;  and  besides  I  thought  I  could  easily 
shake  him  off  if  it  turned  out  that  he  really  was 
mad ;  so  I  said,  — 

"  It  is  a  very  kind  offer,  but  it  is  difficult  for  me 
to  accept  it,  unless  — "  I  was  going  to  say,  un- 
less you  will  let  me  pay  you  properly ;  but  fear- 
ing to  stir  up  Colney  Hatch  again,  I  changed  the 
sentence  into,  "  I  fear  I  shall  be  taking  you  away 
from  your  work  —  or  your  amusement." 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  don't  trouble  about  that,  because 
it  will  give  me  an  opportunity  of  doing  a  good  turn 
to  a  friend  of  mine,  who  wants  to  take  my  work 
here.  He  is  a  weaver  from  Yorkshire,  who  has 
rather  overdone  himself  between  his  weaving  and 
his  mathematics,  both  indoor  work,  you  see ;  and 
being  a  great  friend  of  mine,  he  naturally  came  to 
me  to  get  him  some  outdoor  work.  If  you  think 
you  can  put  up  with  me,  pray  take  me  as  your 
guide." 

He  added  presently :  "  It  is  true  that  I  have 
promised  to  go  up-stream  for  the  hay  harvest ;  but 
they  won't  be  ready  for  us  for  more  than  a  week  ; 
and  besides,  you  might  go  with  me,  you  know,  and 
see  some  very  nice  people,  besides  making  notes  of 
our  ways  in  Oxfordshire.  You  could  hardly  do 
better  if  you  want  to  see  the  country." 

I  felt  myself  obliged  to  thank  him,  whatever 
might  come  of  it ;  and  he  added  eagerly,  — 


20  NEWS  from  nowhere; 

"Well,  then,  that's  settled.  I  will  give  my 
friend  a  call ;  he  is  living  in  the  Guest  House  like 
you,  and  if  he  is  n't  up  yet,  he  ought  to  be,  —  this 
fine  summer  morning." 

Therewith  he  took  a  little  silver  bugle-horn  from 
his  girdle  and  blew  two  or  three  sharp  but  agree- 
able notes  on  it ;  and  presently  from  the  house, 
which  stood  on  the  site  of  my  old  dwelling  (of 
which  more  hereafter),  another  young  man  came 
sauntering  towards  us.  He  was  not  so  well-looking 
or  so  strong-built  as  my  sculler  friend,  being  sandy- 
haired,  rather  pale,  and  not  stout-built;  but  his 
face  was  not  wanting  in  that  happy  and  friendly 
expression  which  I  had  noticed  in  his  friend.  As 
he  came  up  smiling  towards  us,  I  saw  with  pleas- 
ure that  I  must  give  up  the  Colney  Hatch  theory  as 
to  the  waterman,  for  no  two  madmen  ever  behaved 
as  they  did  before  a  sane  man.  His  dress  also  was 
of  the  same  cut  as  the  first  man's,  though  some- 
what gayer,  the  surcoat  being  light  green  with  a 
golden  spray  embroidered  on  the  breast,  and  his 
belt  being  of  filagree  silver-work. 

He  gave  me  good-day  very  civilly,  and  greeting 
his  friend  joyously,  said,  — 

"  Well,  Dick,  what  is  it  this  morning  ?  Am  I 
to  have  my  work,  or  rather  your  work  ?  I  dreamed 
last  night  that  we  were  off  up  the  river  fishing." 

"  All  right,  Bob,"  said  my  sculler ;  "  you  will, 
drop  into  my  place,  and  if  you  find  it  too  much, 
there  is  George  Brightling  on  the  look-out  for  a 
stroke  of  work,  and  he  lives  close  handy  to  you.  But 
see,  here  is  a  stranger  who  is  willing  to  amuse  me 
to-day  by  taking  me  as  his  guide  about  our  country, 
and  you  may  imagine  I  don't  want  to  lose  the 


OK,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  21 

opportunity ;  so  you  had  better  take  to  the  boat  at 
once.  But  in  any  case  I  should  n't  have  kept  you 
out  of  it  for  long,  since  I  am  due  in  the  hayfields 
in  a  few  days." 

The  newcomer  rubbed  his  hands  with  glee,  but 
turning  to  me,  said  in  a  friendly  voice,  — 

"  Neighbor,  both  you  and  friend  Dick  are  lucky, 
and  will  have  a  good  time  to-day,  as  indeed  I  shall 
too.  But  you  had  better  both  come  in  with  me  at 
once  and  get  something  to  eat,  lest  you  should  for- 
get your  dinner  in  your  amusement.  I  suppose 
you  came  into  the  Guest  House  after  I  had  gone  to 
bed  last  night  ?  " 

I  nodded,  not  caring  to  enter  into  a  long  expla- 
nation which  would  have  led  to  nothing,  and  which 
in  truth  by  this  time  I  should  have  begun  to  doubt 
myself.  And  we  all  three  turned  toward  the  door 
of  the  Guest  House. 


22  NEWS  from  nowhere; 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   GUEST    HOUSE  AND   BREAKFAST   THEREIN. 

T  LINGERED  a  little  behind  the  others  to  have 
-I  a  stare  at  this  house,  which,  as  I  have  told 
you,  stood  on  the  site  of  my  old  dwelling. 

It  was  a  longish  building,  with  its  gable  ends 
turned  away  from  the  road,  and  long  traceried  win- 
dows, coming  rather  low  down,  set  in  the  wall  that 
faced  us.  It  was  very  handsomely  built  of  red 
brick  with  a  lead  roof  ;  and  high  up  above  the  win- 
dows there  ran  a  frieze  of  figure-subjects  in  baked 
clay,  very  well  executed,  and  designed  with  a  force 
and  directness  which  I  had  never  noticed  in  modern 
work  before.  The  subjects  I  recognized  at  once, 
and  indeed  was  very  particularly  familiar  with 
them. 

However,  all  this  I  took  in  in  a  minute ;  for  we 
were  presently  within  doors,  and  standing  in  a  hall 
with  a  floor  of  marble  mosaic  and  an  open  timber 
roof.  There  were  no  windows  on  the  side  opposite 
to  the  river,  but  arches  below  leading  into  cham- 
bers, one  of  which  showed  a  glimpse  of  a  garden 
beyond,  and  above  them  a  long  space  of  wall  gayly 
painted  (in  fresco,  I  thought)  with  similar  subjects 
to  those  of  the  frieze  outside  ;  everything  about  the 
place  was  handsome  and  generously  solid  as  to 
material ;  and  though  it  was  not  very  large  (some- 
what smaller  than  Crosbey  Hall  perhaps),  one  felt 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  23 

in  it  that  exhilarating  sense  of  space  and  freedom 
which  satisfactory  architecture  always  gives  to  an 
unanxious  man  who  is  in  the  habit  of  using  his 
eyes. 

In  this  pleasant  place,  which  of  course  I  knew 
to  be  the  hall  of  the  Guest  House,  three  young 
women  were  flitting  to  and  fro.  As  they  were  the 
first  of  the  sex  I  had  seen  on  this  eventful  morn- 
ing, I  naturally  looked  at  them  very  attentively, 
and  found  them  at  least  as  good  as  the  gardens, 
the  architecture,  and  the  male  men.  As  to  their 
dress,  which  of  course  I  took  note  of,  I  should  say 
that  they  were  decently  veiled  with  drapery  and  not 
bundled  up  with  millinery ;  that  they  were  clothed 
like  women,  not  upholstered  like  arm-chairs,  as 
most  women  of  our  time  are.  In  short,  their  dress 
was  somewhat  between  that  of  the  ancient  classical 
costume  and  the  simpler  forms  of  the  fourteenth- 
century  garments,  though  it  was  clearly  not  an  imi- 
tation of  either ;  the  materials  were  light  and  gay 
to  suit  the  season.  As  to  the  women  themselves, 
it  was  pleasant  indeed  to  see  them,  they  were  so 
kind  and  happy-looking  in  expression  of  face,  so 
shapely  and  well-knit  of  body,  and  thoroughly 
healthy-looking  and  strong.  All  were  at  least 
comely,  and  one  of  them  very  handsome  and  reg- 
ular of  feature.  They  came  up  to  us  at  once 
merrily  and  without  the  least  affectation  of  shy- 
ness, and  all  three  shook  hands  with  me  as  if  I 
were  a  friend  newly  come  back  from  a  long  jour- 
ney,  —  though  I  could  not  help  noticing  that  they 
looked  askance  at  my  garments  ;  for  I  had  on  my 
clothes  of  last  night,  and  at  the  best  was  never  a 
diessy  person. 


24  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

A  word  or  two  from  Robert  the  weaver,  and  they 
bustled  about  on  our  behoof,  and  presently  came 
and  took  us  by  the  hands  and  led  us  to  a  table  in 
the  pleasantest  corner  of  the  hall,  where  our  break- 
fast was  spread  for  us  ;  and,  as  we  sat  down,  one  of 
them  hurried  out  by  the  chambers  aforesaid,  and 
came  back  again  in  a  little  while  with  a  great 
bunch  of  roses,  very  different  in  size  and  quality 
to  what  Hammersmith  had  been  wont  to  grow, 
but  very  like  the  produce  of  an  old  country  garden. 
She  hurried  back  thence  into  the  buttery,  and  came 
back  once  more  with  a  delicately  made  glass,  into 
which  she  put  the  flowers  and  set  in  the  midst  of 
our  table.  One  of  the  others,  who  had  run  off  also, 
then  came  back  with  a  big  cabbage-leaf  filled  with 
strawberries,  some  of  them  barely  ripe,  and  said  as 
she  set  them  on  the  table,  "  There,  now  ;  I  thought 
of  that  before  I  got  up  this  morning ;  but  looking 
at  the  stranger  here  getting  into  your  boat,  Dick, 
put  it  out  of  my  head  ;  so  that  I  was  not  before  all 
the  blackbirds :  however,  there  are  a  few  about  as 
good  as  you  will  get  them  anywhere  in  Hammer- 
smith this  morning." 

Robert  patted  her  on  the  head  in  a  friendly  man- 
ner; and  we  fell  to  on  our  breakfast,  which  was 
simple  enough  but  most  delicately  cooked,  and  set 
on  the  table  with  much  daintiness.  The  bread 
was  particularly  good  and  was  of  several  different 
kinds,  from  the  big,  rather  close,  dark-colored, 
sweet-tasting  farmhouse  loaf,  which  was  most  to 
my  liking,  to  the  thin  pipe-stems  of  wheaten  crust, 
such  as  I  have  eaten  in  Turin. 

As  I  was  putting  the  first  mouth  fuls  into  my 
mouth,  my  eye  caught  a  carved  and  gilded  inscrip- 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF  REST.  25 

tion  on  the  panelling  behind  what  we  should  have 
called  the  High  Table  in  an  Oxford  college  hall, 
and  a  familiar  name  in  it  forced  me  to  read  it 
through.     Thus  it  ran  :  — 

"  Guests  and  neighbors,  on  the  site  of  this  Guest- 
hall  once  stood  the  lecture-room  of  the  Hammersmith 
Branch  of  the  Socialist  League.  Drink  a  glass  to  the 
memory!     May,  1962." 

It  is  difficult  to  tell  you  how  I  felt  as  I  read 
these  words,  and  I  suppose  my  face  showed  how 
much  I  was  moved,  for  both  my  friends  looked 
curiously  at  me,  and  there  was  silence  between  us 
for  a  little  while. 

Presently  the  weaver,  who  was  scarcely  so  well- 
mannered  a  man  as  the  ferryman,  said  to  me  rather 
awkwardly,  — 

"  Guest,  we  don't  know  what  to  call  you ;  is  there 
any  indiscretion  in  asking  you  your  name  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  have  some  doubts  about  it 
myself ;  so  suppose  you  call  me  Guest,  which  is  a 
family  name,  you  know,  and  add  William  to  it  if 
you  please." 

Dick  nodded  kindly  to  me ;  but  a  shade  of 
anxiousness  passed  over  the  weaver's  face,  and  he 
said,  — 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  asking,  but  would 
you  tell  me  where  you  come  from  ?  I  am  curi- 
ous about  such  things  for  good  reasons,  literary 
reasons." 

Dick  was  clearly  kicking  him  underneath  the 
table  ;  but  he  was  not  much  abashed,  and  awaited 
my  answer  somewhat  eagerly.     As  for  me,  I  was 


26  NEWS    FROM    NOWHERE  ; 

just  going  to  blurt  out,  "Hammersmith,"  when  I 
bethought  me  what  an  entanglement  of  cross-pur- 
poses that  would  lead  us  into  ;  so  I  took  time  to 
invent  a  lie  with  circumstance,  guarded  by  a  little 
truth,  and  said, — 

"  You  see,  I  have  been  such  a  long  time  away 
from  Europe  that  things  seem  strange  to  me  now  ; 
but  I  was  born  and  bred  on  the  edge  of  Epping 
Forest,  —  Walthamstow  and  Woodford,  to  wit." 

"  A  pretty  place,  too,"  broke  in  Dick ;  "  a  very 
jolly  place,  now  that  the  trees  have  had  time  to 
grow  again  since  the  great  clearing  of  houses  in 
1955." 

Quoth  the  irrepressible  weaver :  "  Dear  neigh- 
bor, since  you  knew  the  Forest  some  time  ago, 
could  you  tell  me  what  truth  there  is  in  the  rumor 
that  in  the  nineteenth  century  the  trees  were  all 
pollards  ?  " 

This  was  catching  me  on  my  archaeological 
natural-history  side,  and  I  fell  into  the  trap  with- 
out any  thought  of  where  and  when  I  was ;  so  I 
began  on  it,  while  one  of  the  girls  who  had  been 
scattering  little  twigs  of  lavender  and  other  sweet- 
smelling  herbs  about  the  floor,  came  near  to  listen, 
and  stood  behind  me  with  her  hand  on  my  shoulder, 
in  which  she  held  some  of  the  plant  that  I  used 
to  call  balm  ;  its  strong,  sweet  smell  brought  back 
to  my  mind  my  very  early  days  in  the  kitchen 
garden  at  Woodford,  and  the  large  blue  plums 
which  grew  on  the  wall  beyond  the  sweet-herb 
patch,  —  a  connection  of  memories  which  all  boys 
will  see  at  once. 

I  started  off :  "  When  I  was  a  boy,  and  for  long 
after,  except  for  a  piece  about  Queen  Elizabeth's 


OR,  AN   EPOCH  OF  REST.  27 

Lodge,  and  for  the  part  about  High  Beech,  the 
Forest  was  almost  wholly  made  up  of  pollard  horn- 
beams mixed  with  holly  thickets.  But  when  the 
Corporation  of  London  took  it  over  about  twenty- 
five  years  ago,  the  topping  and  lopping  which  was 
a  part  of  the  old  commoners'  rights,  came  to  an 
end,  and  the  trees  were  let  to  grow.  But  I  have 
not  seen  the  place  now  for  many  years,  except 
once  when  we  Leaguers  went  a-pleasuring  to  High 
Beech.  I  was  very  much  shocked  then  to  see  how 
it  was  built  over  and  altered,  and  the  other  day  we 
heard  that  the  philistines  were  going  to  landscape- 
garden  it.  But  what  you  were  saying  about  the 
building  being  stopped  and  the  trees  growing  is 
only  too  good  news  ;  only  you  know  —  " 

At  that  point  I  suddenly  remembered  Dick's 
date,  and  stopped  short  rather  confused.  The 
eager  weaver  did  n't  notice  my  confusion,  but  said 
hastily,  as  if  he  were  almost  aware  of  his  breach 
of  good  manners,  "  But,  I  say,  how  old  are  you  ?  " 

Dick  and  the  pretty  girl  both  burst  out  laugh- 
ing, as  if  Robert's  conduct  were  excusable  on  the 
grounds  of  eccentricity ;  and  Dick  said  amidst  his 
laughter :  — 

"Hold  hard,  Bob;  this  questioning  of  guests 
won't  do.  Why,  much  learning  is  spoiling  you. 
You  remind  me  of  the  radical  cobblers  in  the  silly 
old  novels,  who,  according  to  the  authors,  were 
prepared  to  trample  down  all  good  manners  in  the 
pursuit  of  utilitarian  knowledge.  The  fact  is,  I 
begin  to  think  that  you  have  so  muddled  your  head 
with  mathematics,  and  with  grubbing  into  those 
idiotic  old  books  about  political  economy  (he  he  !), 
that  you  scarcely  know  how  to  behave.     Really,  it 


28  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

is  about  time  for  you  to  take  to  some  open-air 
work,  so  that  you  may  clear  away  the  cobwebs 
from  your  brain." 

The  weaver  only  laughed  good-lmmoredly  ;  and 
the  girl  went  up  to  him  and  patted  his  cheek  and 
said  laughingly,  "  Poor  fellow !  he  was  born  so." 

As  for  me,  I  was  a  little  puzzled,  but  I  laughed 
also,  partly  for  company's  sake,  and  partly  with 
pleasure  at  their  unanxious  happiness  and  good 
temper ;  and  before  Robert  could  make  the  excuse 
to  me  which  he  was  getting  ready,  I  said,  — 

"  But  neighbors  "  (I  had  caught  up  that  word), 
"I  don't  in  the  least  mind  answering  questions, 
when  I  can  do  so.  Ask  me  as  many  as  you  please  ; 
it 's  fun  for  me.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  Epping 
Forest  when  I  was  a  boy,  if  you  please ;  and  as  to 
my  age,  I'm  not  a  fine  lady,  you  know,  so  why 
should  n't  I  tell  you  ?     I  'm  hard  on  fifty-six." 

In  spite  of  the  recent  lecture  on  good  manners, 
the  weaver  could  not  help  giving  a  long  "  whew  " 
of  astonishment,  and  the  others  were  so  amused 
by  his  naivete  that  the  merriment  flitted  all  over 
their  faces,  though  for  courtesy's  sake  they  for- 
bore actual  laughter;  while  I  looked  from  one 
to  the  other  in  a  puzzled  manner,  and  at  last 
said :  — 

"  Tell  me,  please,  what  is  amiss ;  you  know  I 
want  to  learn  from  you.  And  please  laugh ;  only 
tell  me." 

Well,  they  did  laugh,  and  I  joined  them  again, 
for  the  above-stated  reasons.  But  at  last  the 
pretty  woman  said  coaxingly, — 

"  Well,  well,  he  is  rude,  poor  fellow  !  but  you 
see  I  may  as  well  tell  you  what  he  is  thinking 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  29 

about ;  he  means  that  you  look  rather  old  for  your 
age.  But  surely  there  need  be  no  wonder  in  that, 
since  you  have  been  travelling ;  and  clearly  from 
all  you  have  been  saying,  in  unsocial  countries.  It 
has  often  been  said,  and  no  doubt  truly,  that  one 
ages  very  quickly  if  one  lives  among  unhappy 
people.  Also  they  say  that  southern  England  is  a 
good  place  for  keeping  good  looks."  She  blushed 
and  said :  "  How  old  am  I,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Well,"  quoth  I,  "  I  have  always  been  told  that 
a  woman  is  as  old  as  she  looks,  so  without  offence 
or  flattery,  I  should  say  you  were  twenty." 

She  laughed  merrily,  and  said,  "  I  am  well  served 
out  for  fishing  for  compliments,  since  I  have  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  to  wit,  that  I  am  forty-two." 

I  stared  at  her,  and  drew  musical  laughter  from 
her  again ;  but  I  might  well  stare,  for  there  was 
not  a  careful  line  on  her  face ;  her  skin  was  as 
smooth  as  ivory,  her  cheeks  full  and  round,  her 
lips  as  red  as  the  roses  she  had  brought  in ;  her 
beautiful  arms,  which  she  had  bared  for  her  work, 
firm  and  well-knit  from  shoulder  to  wrist.  She 
blushed  a  little  under  my  gaze,  though  it  was  clear 
that  she  had  taken  me  for  a  man  of  eighty ;  so  to 
pass  it  off,  I  said,  — 

"  Well,  you  see,  the  old  saw  is  proved  right 
again,  and  I  ought  not  to  have  let  you  tempt  me 
into  asking  you  a  rude  question." 

She  laughed  again,  and  said  :  "  Well,  lads,  old 
and  young,  I  must  get  to  my  work  now.  We  shall 
be  rather  busy  here  presently ;  and  I  want  to  clear 
it  off  soon,  for  I  began  to  read  a  pretty  old  book 
yesterday,  and  I  want  to  get  on  with  it  this  morn- 
ing ;  so  good-by  for  the  present." 


30  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

She  waved  a  hand  to  us,  and  stepped  lightly 
down  the  hall,  taking  (as  Scott  says)  at  least  part 
of  the  sun  from  our  table  as  she  went. 

When  she  was  gone  Dick  said :  "  Now,  guest ; 
won't  you  ask  a  question  or  two  of  our  friend  here  ? 
It  is  only  fair  that  you  should  have  your  turn." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  answer  them,"  said  the 
weaver. 

"  If  I  ask  you  any  questions,  sir,"  said  I,  "  they 
will  not  be  very  severe  ;  but  since  I  hear  that  you 
are  a  weaver,  I  should  like  to  ask  you  something 
about  that  craft,  as  I  am  —  or  was  —  interested 
in  it." 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  not  be  of  much  use  to 
you  there,  I  'm  afraid.  I  only  do  the  most  mechan- 
ical kind  of  weaving,  and  am  in  fact  but  a  poor 
craftsman,  unlike  Dick  here.  Then  besides  the 
weaving,  I  do  a  little  with  machine  printing  and 
composing,  though  I  am  little  use  at  the  finer  kinds 
of  printing;  and  moreover  machine  printing  is 
beginning  to  die  out,  along  with  the  waning  of  the 
plague  of  book-making ;  so  I  have  had  to  turn  to 
other  things  that  I  have  a  taste  for,  and  have  taken 
to  mathematics  ;  and  also  I  am  writing  a  sort  of 
antiquarian  book  about  the  peaceable  and  private 
history,  so  to  say,  of  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, —  more  for  the  sake  of  giving  a  picture  of 
the  country  before  the  fighting  began  than  for 
anything  else.  That  was  why  I  asked  you  those 
questions  about  Epping  Forest.  You  have  rather 
puzzled  me,  I  confess,  though  your  information  was 
so  interesting.  But  later  on  I  hope  we  may  have 
some  more  talk  together,  when  our  friend  Dick 
is  n't  here.     I  know  he  thinks  me  rather  a  grinder, 


OR,  AN  EPOCH  OF  REST.  31 

and  despises  me  for  not  being  very  deft  with  my 
hands ;  that 's  the  way  nowadays.  From  what  I 
have  read  of  the  nineteenth-century  literature  (and 
I  have  read  a  good  deal),  it  is  clear  to  me  that  this 
is  a  kind  of  revenge  for  the  stupidity  of  that  day, 
which  despised  everybody  who  could  use  his  hands. 
But,  Dick,  old  fellow,  Ne  quid  nimis !  Don't 
over-do  it ! " 

"  Come,  now,"  said  Dick,  "  am  I  likely  to  ?  Am 
I  not  the  most  tolerant  man  in  the  world  ?  Am  I 
not  quite  contented  so  long  as  you  don't  make  me 
learn  mathematics,  or  go  into  your  new  science  of 
aesthetics,  and  let  me  do  a  little  practical  aesthetics 
with  my  gold  and  steel,  and  the  blowpipe  and 
the  nice  little  hammer  ?  But,  hillo  !  here  comes 
another  questioner  for  you,  my  poor  guest.  I  say, 
Bob,  you  must  help  me  to  defend  him  now." 

"  Here,  Boffin,"  he  cried  out,  after  a  pause ; 
"  here  we  are,  if  you  must  have  it !  " 

I  looked  over  my  shoulder  and  saw  something 
flash  and  gleam  in  the  sunlight  that  lay  across  the 
hall ;  so  I  turned  round,  and  at  my  ease  saw  a  splen- 
did figure  slowly  sauntering  over  the  pavement ;  a 
man  whose  surcoat  was  embroidered  most  copiously 
as  well  as  elegantly,  so  that  the  sun  flashed  back 
from  him  as  if  he  had  been  clad  in  golden  armor. 
The  man  himself  was  tall,  dark-haired,  and  exceed- 
ingly handsome,  and  though  his  face  was  no  less 
kindly  in  expression  than  that  of  the  others,  he 
moved  with  that  somewhat  haughty  mien  which 
great  beauty  is  apt  to  give  to  both  men  and  women. 
He  came  and  sat  down  at  our  table  with  a  smiling 
face,  stretching  out  his  long  legs  and  hanging  his 
arm  over  the  chair  in  the  slowly  graceful  way  which 


32  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

tall  and  well-built  people  may  use  without  affecta- 
tion. He  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  but  looked 
as  happy  as  a  child  who  has  just  got  a  new  toy. 
He  bowed  gracefully  to  me,  and  said,  — 

"I  see  clearly  that  you  are  the  guest  of  whom 
Annie  has  just  told  me,  who  have  come  from  some 
distant  country  that  does  not  know  of  us  or  our 
ways  of  life.  So  I  daresay  you  would  not  mind 
answering  me  a  few  questions ;  for  you  see  —  " 

Here  Dick  broke  in :  "  No,  please,  Boffin  !  let  it 
alone  for  the  present.  Of  course  you  want  the  guest 
to  be  happy  and  comfortable  ;  and  how  can  that  be 
if  he  has  to  trouble  himself  with  answering  all  sorts 
of  questions  while  he  is  still  confused  with  all  the 
new  customs  and  people  about  him  ?  No,  no ;  I 
am  going  to  take  him  where  he  can  ask  questions 
himself,  and  have  them  answered;  that  is,  to  my 
great-grandfather  in  Bloomsbury :  and  I  am  sure 
you  can't  have  anything  to  say  against  that.  So  in- 
stead of  bothering,  you  had  much  better  go  out  to 
James  Allen's  and  get  a  carriage  for  me,  as  I  shall 
drive  him  up  myself ;  and  please  tell  Jim  to  let  me 
have  the  old  grey,  for  I  can  drive  a  wherry  much 
better  than  a  carriage.  Jump  up,  old  fellow,  and 
don't  be  disappointed  ;  our  guest  will  keep  himself 
for  you  and  your  stories." 

I  stared  at  Dick ;  for  I  wondered  at  his  speaking 
to  such  a  dignified-looking  personage  so  familiarly, 
not  to  say  curtly ;  for  I  thought  that  this  Mr.  Boffin 
in  spite  of  his  well-known  name  out  of  Dickens, 
must  be  at  the  least  a  senator  of  these  strange  people. 
However,  he  got  up  and  said,  "All  right,  old  oar- 
wearer,  whatever  you  like ;  this  is  not  one  of  my 
busy  days  ;  and  though  "  (with  a  condescending  bow 


OR,   AN    EPOCH    OF   REST.  33 

to  me)  "  my  pleasure  of  a  talk  with  this  learned 
guest  is  put  off,  I  admit  that  he  ought  to  see  your 
worthy  kinsman  as  soon  as  possible.  Besides,  per- 
haps he  will  be  the  better  able  to  answer  my  questions 
after  his  own  have  been  answered." 

And  therewith  he  turned  and  swung  himself  out 
of  the  hall. 

When  he  was  well  gone,  I  said  :  "  Is  it  wrong  to 
ask  what  Mr.  Boffin  is  ?  whose  name,  by  the  way, 
reminds  me  of  many  pleasant  hours  passed  in  read- 
ing Dickens." 

Dick  laughed.  "  Yes,  yes,"  said  he,  "  as  it  does 
us.  I  see  you  take  the  allusion.  Of  course  his  real 
name  is  not  Boffin,  but  Henry  Johnson ;  we  only 
call  him  Boffin  as  a  joke, — partly  because  he  is  a  dust- 
man, and  partly  because  he  will  dress  so  showily, 
and  get  as  much  gold  on  him  as  a  baron  in  the  Mid- 
dle Ages.  As  why  should  he  not  if  he  likes  ?  only 
we  are  his  special  friends,  you  know,  so  of  course 
we  jest  with  him." 

I  held  my  tongue  for  some  time  after  that ;  but 
Dick  went  on,  — 

"  He  is  a  capital  fellow,  and  you  can't  help  liking 
him ;  but  he  has  a  weakness  :  he  will  spend  his  time 
in  writing  reactionary  novels,  and  is  very  proud  of 
getting  the  local  color  right,  as  he  calls  it ;  and  as 
he  thinks  you  come  from  some  forgotten  corner 
of  the  earth,  where  people  are  unhappy,  and  conse- 
quently interesting  to  a  story-teller,  he  thinks  he 
may  get  some  information  out  of  you.  Oh,  he  will 
be  quite  straightforward  with  you,  for  that  matter. 
Only  for  your  own  comfort,  beware  of  him  !  " 

"Well,    Dick,"   said   the  weaver,   doggedly,   "I 
think  his  novels  are  very  good." 
3 


34  NEWS  FROM   NOWHERE; 

"  Of  course  you  do,"  said  Dick ;  "  birds  of  a 
feather  flock  together ;  mathematics  and  antiqua- 
rian novels  stand  on  much  the  same  footing.  But 
here  he  comes  again." 

And  in  effect  the  Golden  Dustman  hailed  us  from 
the  hall-door ;  so  we  all  got  up  and  went  into  the 
porch,  before  which,  with  a  strong  gray  horse  in  the 
shafts,  stood  a  carriage  ready  for  us  which  I  could 
not  help  noticing.  It  was  light  and  handy,  but  had 
none  of  that  sickening  vulgarity  which  I  had  known 
as  inseparable  from  the  carriages  of  our  time,  espe- 
cially the  "  elegant  "  ones,  but  was  as  graceful  and 
pleasant  in  line  as  a  Wessex  wagon.  We  got  in, 
Dick  and  I.  The  girls,  who  had  come  into  the  porch 
to  see  us  off,  waved  their  hands  to  us ;  the  weaver 
nodded  kindly ;  the  dustman  bowed  as  gracefully 
as  a  troubadour ;  Dick  shook  the  reins,  and  we 
were  off. 


OK,  AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  35 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A    MARKET    BY   THE    WAT. 

WE  turned  away  from  the  river  at  once,  and 
were  soon  in  the  main  road  that  runs 
through  Hammersmith.  But  I  should  have  had 
no  guess  as  to  where  I  was  if  I  had  not  started 
from  the  waterside ;  for  King  Street  was  gone,  and 
the  highway  ran  through  wide,  sunny  meadows  and 
garden-like  tillage.  The  Creek,  which  we  crossed 
at  once,  had  been  rescued  from  its  culvert,  and  as 
we  went  over  its  pretty  bridge  we  saw  its  waters, 
yet  swollen  by  the  tide,  covered  with  gay  boats  of 
different  sizes.  There  were  houses  about,  some  on 
the  road,  some  among  the  fields  with  pleasant  lanes 
leading  down  to  them,  and  each  surrounded  by  a 
teeming  garden.  They  were  all  pretty  in  design, 
and  as  solid  as  might  be,  but  countryfied  in  ap- 
pearance, like  yeomen's  dwellings  ;  some  of  them 
of  red  brick  like  those  by  the  river,  but  more  of 
timber  and  plaster,  which  were  by  the  necessity 
of  their  construction  so  like  mediaeval  houses  of 
the  same  materials  that  I  fairly  felt  as  if  I  were 
alive  in  the  fourteenth  century,  —  a  sensation  helped 
out  by  the  costume  of  the  people  that  we  met  or 
passed,  in  whose  dress  there  was  nothing  "  modern." 
Almost  everybody  was  gayly  dressed,  but  especially 
the  women,  who  were  so  well-looking,  or  even  so 


36  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

handsome,  that  I  could  scarcely  refrain  my  tongue 
from  calling  my  companion's  attention  to  the  fact. 
Some  faces  I  saw  that  were  thoughtful,  and  in  these 
I  noticed  great  nobility  of  expression,  but  none  that 
had  a  glimmer  of  unhappiness,  and  the  greater  part 
(we  came  upon  a  good  many  people)  were  frankly 
and  openly  joyous. 

I  thought  I  knew  the  Broadway  by  the  lie  of  the 
roads  that  meet  there.  On  the  north  side  of  the 
road  was  a  range  of  buildings  and  courts,  low,  but 
very  handsomely  built  and  ornamented,  and  in  that 
way  forming  a  great  contrast  to  the  unpretentious- 
ness  of  the  houses  round  about;  while  above  this 
lower  building  rose  the  steep  lead-covered  roof  and 
the  buttresses  and  higher  part  of  the  wall  of  a  great 
hall,  of  a  splendid  and  exuberant  style  of  architect- 
ure, of  which  one  can  say  little  more  than  that  it 
seemed  to  me  to  embrace  the  best  qualities  of  the 
Gothic  of  northern  Europe  with  those  of  the  Sara- 
cenic and  Byzantine,  though  there  was  no  copying 
of  any  one  of  these  styles.  On  the  other,  the  south, 
side  of  the  road  was  an  octagonal  building  with  a 
high  roof,  not  unlike  the  Baptistery  at  Florence, 
except  that  it  was  surrounded  by  a  lean-to  that 
clearly  made  an  arcade  or  cloisters  to  it ;  it  also 
was  most  delicately  ornamented. 

This  whole  mass  of  architecture  which  we  had 
come  upon  so  suddenly  from  amidst  the  pleasant 
fields  was  not  only  exquisitely  beautiful  in  itself, 
but  it  bore  upon  it  the  expression  of  such  gener- 
osity and  abundance  of  life  that  I  was  exhilarated 
to  a  pitch  that  I  had  never  yet  reached.  I  fairly 
chuckled  for  pleasure.  My  friend  seemed  to  under- 
stand it,  and  sat  looking  on  me  with  a  pleased  and 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  37 

affectionate  interest.  We  had  pulled  up  among  a 
crowd  of  carts,  wherein  sat  handsome,  healthy-look- 
ing people,  men,  women,  and  children,  very  gayly 
dressed,  and  which  were  clearly  market  carts,  as 
they  were  full  of  very  tempting-looking  country 
produce. 

I  said :  "  I  need  not  ask  if  this  is  a  market,  for  I 
see  clearly  that  it  is ;  but  what  market  is  it  that  it 
is  so  splendid  ?  And  what  is  the  glorious  hall 
there,  and  what  is  the  building  on  the  south 
side  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "it  is  just  our  Hammersmith  mar- 
ket ;  and  I  am  glad  you  like  it  so  much,  for  we  are 
really  proud  of  it.  Of  course  the  hall  inside  is  our 
winter  Mote-House ;  for  in  summer  we  mostly  meet 
in  the  fields  down  by  the  river  opposite  Barn-Elms. 
The  building  on  our  right  hand  is  our  theatre ;  I 
hope  you  like  it." 

"  I  should  be  a  fool  if  I  did  n't,"  said  I. 

He  blushed  a  little  as  he  said:  "I  am  glad  of 
that,  too,  because  I  had  a  hand  in  it ;  I  made  the 
great  doors,  which  are  of  damascened  bronze.  We 
will  look  at  them  later  in  the  day,  perhaps ;  but  we 
ought  to  be  getting  on  now.  As  to  the  market,  this 
is  not  one  of  our  busy  days ;  so  we  shall  do  better 
with  it  another  time,  because  you  will  see  more 
people." 

I  thanked  him,  and  said :  "  Are  these  the  regular 
country  people  ?  What  very  pretty  girls  there  are 
among  them." 

As  I  spoke,  my  eye  caught  the  face  of  a  beautiful 
woman,  tall,  dark-haired,  and  white-skinned,  dressed 
in  a  pretty,  light-green  dress  in  honor  of  the  season 
and  the  hot  day,  who  smiled  kindly  on  me,  and 


38  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

more  kindly  still,  I  thought,  on  Dick ;  so  I  stopped 
a  minute,  but  presently  went  on,  — 

"  I  ask  because  I  do  not  see  any  of  the  country- 
looking  people  I  should  have  expected  to  see  at  a 
market,  —  I  mean  selling  things  there." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  he,  "what  kind  of 
people  you  would  expect  to  see ;  nor  quite  what 
you  mean  by  ' country'  people.  These  are  the 
neighbors,  and  that  like  they  run  in  the  Thames 
valley.  There  are  parts  of  these  islands  which  are 
rougher  and  rainier  than  we  are  here,  and  there 
people  are  rougher  in  their  dress ;  and  they  them- 
selves are  tougher  and  more  hard-bitten  than  we 
are  to  look  at.  But  some  people  like  their  looks 
better  than  ours ;  they  say  they  have  more  charac- 
ter in  them,  —  that 's  the  word.  Well,  it 's  a  matter 
of  taste.  Anyhow,  the  cross  between  us  and  them 
generally  turns  out  well,"  added  he,  thoughtfully. 

I  thought  his  eye  rather  wandered  from  me,  and 
did  n't  wonder,  for  that  pretty  girl  was  just  disap- 
pearing through  the  gate  with  her  big  basket  of 
early  peas,  and  I  myself  felt  that  disappointed 
kind  of  feeling  which  overtakes  one  when  one  has 
seen  an  interesting  or  lovely  face  in  the  streets 
which  one  is  never  likely  to  see  again ;  and  I  was 
silent  a  little.  At  last  I  said :  "  What  I  mean  is, 
that  I  have  n't  seen  any  poor  people  about,  —  not 
one." 

He  knit  his  brows,  looked  puzzled,  and  said  : 
"  No,  naturally ;  if  anybody  is  poorly,  he  is  likely 
to  be  within  doors,  or  at  best  crawling  about  the 
garden ;  but  I  don't  know  of  any  one  sick  at  pre- 
sent. Why  should  you  expect  to  see  poorly  people 
on  the  road  ?  " 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  39 

"No,  no,"  I  said;  "I  don't  mean  sick  people.  I 
mean  poor  people,  you  know,  —  rough  people." 

"  No,"  said  he,  smiling  merrily,  "  I  really  do  not 
know.  The  fact  is  you  must  come  along  quick  to 
my  great-grandfather,  who  will  understand  you 
better  than  I  do.  Come  on,  Greylocks  ! "  There- 
with he  shook  the  reins,  and  we  jogged  along 
merrily  eastward. 


40  NEWS   FROM    NOWHERE 


CHAPTER  V. 

CHILDREN    ON    THE    ROAD. 

PAST  the  Broadway  there  were  fewer  houses  on 
either  side.  We  presently  crossed  a  pretty 
little  brook  that  ran  across  a  piece  of  land  dotted 
over  with  trees,  and  a  while  after  came  to  another 
market  and  town-hall,  as  we  should  call  it.  Al- 
though there  was  nothing  familiar  to  me  in  its 
surroundings,  I  knew  pretty  well  where  we  were, 
and  was  not  surprised  when  my  guide  said  briefly, 
"  Kensington  Market." 

Just  after  this  we  came  into  a  short  street  of 
houses  ;  or  rather,  one  long  house  on  either  side  of 
the  way,  built  of  timber  and  plaster,  and  with  a 
pretty  arcade  over  the  footway  before  it. 

Quoth  Dick :  "  This  is  Kensington  proper.  Peo- 
ple are  apt  to  gather  here  rather  thick,  for  they 
like  the  romance  of  the  wood;  and  naturalists 
haunt  it  too ;  for  it  is  a  wild  spot  even  here,  what 
there  is  of  it ;  for  it  does  not  go  far  to  the  south  ; 
it  goes  from  here  northward  and  west  right  over 
Paddington  and  a  little  way  down  Notting  Hill; 
thence  it  runs  east  to  Primrose  Hill,  and  so  on; 
rather  a  narrow  strip  of  it  gets  through  Kingsland 
to  Stoke-Newington  and  Clapton,  where  it  spreads 
out  along  the  heights  above  the  Lea  marshes,  on 
the  other  side  of  which,  as  you  know,  is  Epping 
Forest  holding  out  a  hand  to  it.      This  part  we 


OR,  AN   ErOCH   OF  REST.  41 

are  just  coming  to  is  called  Kensington  Gardens  ; 
though  why  ' gardens'  I  don't  know." 

I  rather  longed  to  say,  "  Well,  I  know ;  "  but 
there  were  so  many  things  about  me  which  I  did 
not  know,  in  spite  of  his  assumptions,  that  I 
thought  it  better  to  hold  my  tongue. 

The  road  plunged  at  once  into  a  beautiful  wood 
spreading  out  on  either  side,  but  obviously  much 
further  on  the  north  side,  where  even  the  oaks  and 
sweet  chestnuts  were  of  a  good  growth ;  while  the 
quicker-growing  trees  (among  which  I  thought 
the  planes  and  sycamores  too  numerous)  were  very 
big  and  fine-grown. 

It  was  exceedingly  pleasant  in  the  dappled 
shadow,  for  the  day  was  growing  as  hot  as  need 
be,  and  the  coolness  and  shade  soothed  my  excited 
mind  into  a  condition  of  dreamy  pleasure,  so  that 
I  felt  as  if  I  should  like  to  go  on  forever  through 
that  balmy  freshness.  My  companion  seemed  to 
share  in  my  feelings,  and  let  the  horse  go  slower 
and  slower  as  he  sat  inhaling  the  green  forest 
scents,  chief  among  which  was  the  smell  of  the 
trodden  bracken  near  the  way-side. 

Romantic  as  this  Kensington  wood  was,  however, 
it  was  not  lonely.  We  came  on  many  groups  both 
coming  and  going,  or  wandering  in  the  edges  of 
the  wood.  Among  these  were  many  children  from 
six  or  eight  years  old  up  to  sixteen  or  seven- 
teen. They  seemed  to  me  especially  fine  speci- 
mens of  their  race,  and  were  clearly  enjoying 
themselves  to  the  utmost;  some  of  them  were 
hanging  about  little  tents  pitched  on  the  green- 
sward, and  by  some  of  these,  fires  were  burning, 
with  pots  hanging  over  them  gypsy  fashion.     Dick 


42  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

explained  to  me  that  there  were  scattered  houses 
in  the  forest,  and  indeed  we  caught  a  glimpse  of 
one  or  two.  He  said  they  were  mostly  quite  small, 
such  as  used  to  be  called  cottages  when  there  were 
slaves  in  the  land,  but  they  were  pleasant  enough 
and  fitting  for  the  wood. 

"They  must  be  pretty  well  stocked  with  chil- 
dren," said  I,  pointing  to  the  many  youngsters 
about  the  way. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "these  children  do  not  all  come 
from  the  near  houses,  the  woodland  houses,  but 
from  the  countryside  generally.  They  often  make 
up  parties  and  come  to  play  in  the  woods  for  weeks 
together  in  summer-time,  living  in  tents,  as  you  see. 
We  rather  encourage  them  to  it ;  they  learn  to  do 
things  for  themselves,  and  get  to  notice  the  wild 
creatures ;  and,  you  see,  the  less  they  stew  inside 
houses  the  better  for  them.  Indeed,  I  must  tell 
you  that  many  grown  people  will  go  to  live  in  the 
forests  through  the  summer ;  though  they  for  the 
most  part  go  to  the  bigger  ones,  like  Windsor  or 
the  Forest  of  Dean  or  the  northern  wastes.  Apart 
from  the  other  pleasures  of  it,  it  gives  them  a  little 
rough  work,  which  I  am  sorry  to  say  is  getting  a 
little  scarce  for  these  last  fifty  years." 

He  broke  off,  and  then  said :  "  I  tell  you  all  this, 
because  I  see  that  if  I  talk  I  must  be  answering 
questions  which  you  are  thinking,  even  if  you  are 
not  speaking  them  out ;  but  my  kinsman  will  tell 
you  more  about  it." 

I  saw  that  I  was  likely  to  get  out  of  my  depth 
again,  and  so,  merely  for  the  sake  of  tiding  over  an 
awkwardness  and  to  say  something,  I  said,  — 

"  Well,  the  youngsters  here  will  be  all  the  fresher 


OK,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  43 

for  school  when  the  summer  gets  over  and  they 
have  to  go  back  again." 

"  School  ?  "  he  said ;  "  yes,  what  do  you  mean 
by  that  word  ?  I  don't  see  how  it  can  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  children.  We  talk,  indeed,  of  a 
school  of  herring,  and  a  school  of  painting,  and 
in  the  former  sense  we  might  talk  of  a  school  of 
children;  but  otherwise,"  said  he,  laughing,  "I 
must  own  myself  beaten." 

Hang  it !  thought  I,  I  can't  open  my  mouth  with- 
out digging  up  some  new  complexity.  I  would  n't 
try  to  set  my  friend  right  in  his  etymology ;  and  I 
thought  I  had  best  say  nothing  about  the  boy-farms 
which  I  had  used  to  call  schools,  as  I  saw  pretty 
clearly  that  they  had  disappeared ;  so  I  said,  after 
a  little  fumbling,  "  I  was  using  the  word  in  the 
sense  of  a  system  of  education." 

"  Education  ?  "  said  he,  meditatively,  "  I  know 
enough  Latin  to  know  that  the  word  must  come 
from  educere,  to  lead  out;  and  I  have  heard  it 
used;  but  I  have  never  met  anybody  who  could 
give  me  a  clear  explanation  of  what  it  means." 

You  may  imagine  how  my  new  friends  fell  in 
my  esteem  when  I  heard  this  frank  avowal;  and 
I  said,  rather  contemptuously,  "  Well,  education 
means  a  system  of  teaching  young  people." 

"  Why  not  old  people  also  ? "  said  he,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  "But,"  he  went  on,  "I  can 
assure  you  our  children  learn,  whether  they  go 
through  a  '  system  of  teaching  '  or  not.  Why,  you 
will  not  find  one  of  these  children  about  here,  boy 
or  girl,  who  cannot  swim ;  and  every  one  of  them 
has  been  used  to  tumbling  about  the  little  forest 
ponies  —  there 's  one  of  them  now  !     They  all  of 


44 


NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 


them  know  how  to  cook  ;  the  bigger  lads  can  mow ; 
many  can  thatch  and  do  odd  jobs  at  carpentering  ; 
or  they  know  how  to  keep  shop.  I  can  tell  you 
they  know  plenty  of  things." 

"Yes,  but  their  mental  education,  the  teaching 
of  their  minds,"  said  I,  kindly  translating  my 
phrase. 

"  Guest,"  said  he,  "  perhaps  you  have  not  learned 
to  do  these  things  I  have  been  speaking  about; 
and  if  that 's  the  case,  don't  you  run  away  with  the 
idea  that  it  does  n't  take  some  skill  to  do  them, 
and  doesn't  give  plenty  of  work  for  one's  mind. 
You  would  change  your  opinion  if  you  saw  a  Dor- 
setshire lad  thatching,  for  instance.  But,  however, 
I  understand  you  to  be  speaking  of  book-learning; 
and  as  to  that,  it  is  a  simple  affair.  Most  children, 
seeing  books  lying  about,  manage  to  read  by  the 
time  they  are  four  years  old ;  though  I  am  told  it 
has  not  always  been  so.  As  to  writing,  we  do  not 
encourage  them  to  scrawl  too  early,  though  scrawl 
a  little  they  will,  because  it  gets  them  into  a  habit 
of  ugly  writing;  and  what's  the  use  of  a  lot  of 
ugly  writing  being  done,  when  rough  printing  can 
be  done  so  easily.  You  understand  that  handsome 
writing  we  like,  and  many  people  will  write  their 
books  out  when  they  make  them,  or  get  them  written ; 
I  mean  books  of  which  only  a  few  copies  are 
needed,  —  poems  and  such  like,  you  know.  How- 
ever, I  am  wandering  from  my  lambs ;  but  you 
must  excuse  me,  for  I  am  interested  in  this  matter 
of  writing,  being  myself  a  fair  writer." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  about  the  children  ;  when  they 
know  how  to  read  and  write,  don't  they  learn 
something  else,  —  languages,  for  instance  ?  " 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  45 

"  Of  course/'  he  said ;  "  sometimes  even  before 
they  can  read  they  can  talk  French,  which  is  the 
nearest  language  talked  on  the  other  side  of  the 
water;  and  they  soon  get  to  know  German  also, 
which  is  talked  by  a  huge  number  of  communes 
and  colleges  on  the  mainland.  These  are  the 
principal  languages  we  speak  in  these  islands, 
along  with  English  and  Welsh ;  and  children  pick 
them  up  very  quickly,  because  their  elders  all 
know  them ;  and  besides  our  guests  from  over  sea 
often  bring  their  children  with  them,  and  the  little 
ones  get  together  and  rub  their  speech  into  one 
another." 

"  And  the  older  languages  ?  "  said  I. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  he,  "they  mostly  learn  Latin 
and  Greek  along  with  the  modern  ones  when  they 
do  anything  more  than  merely  pick  up  the  latter." 

"  And  history  ?  "  said  I ;  "  how  do  you  teach 
history  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  he,  "when  a  person  can  read,  of 
course  he  reads  what  he  likes  to ;  and  he  can  easily 
get  some  one  to  tell  him  what  are  the  best  books 
to  read  on  such  or  such  a  subject,  or  to  explain 
what  he  does  n't  understand  in  the  books  when  he 
is  reading  them." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  what  else  do  they  learn  ?  I 
suppose  they  don't  all  learn  history  ! " 

"No,  no,"  said  he;  "some  don't  care  about  it; 
in  fact,  I  don't  think  many  do.  I  have  heard  my 
great-grandfather  say  that  it  was  mostly  in  periods 
of  turmoil  and  strife  and  confusion  that  people 
cared  much  about  history ;  and  you  know,"  said  my 
friend,  with  an  amiable  smile,  "we  are  not  like 
that  now.     No  ;  many  people  study  facts  about  the 


46  NEWS    FROM   NOWHERE  | 

make  of  things  and  the  matters  of  cause  and  effect, 
so  that  knowledge  increases  on  us,  if  that  be  good  ; 
and  some,  as  you  heard  about  friend  Bob  yonder, 
will  spend  time  over  mathematics.  'Tis  no  use 
forcing  people's  tastes." 

Said  I :  "  But  you  don't  mean  that  children  learn 
all  these  things  ?  " 

Said  he :  "  That  depends  on  what  you  mean  by 
children ;  and  also  you  must  remember  how  much 
they  differ.  As  a  rule,  they  don't  do  much  read- 
ing, except  for  a  few  story-books,  till  they  are 
about  fifteen  years  old;  we  don't  encourage  early 
bookishness,  —  though  you  will  find  some  children 
who  will  take  to  books  very  early ;  which  perhaps 
is  not  good  for  them ;  but  it 's  no  use  thwarting 
them;  and  very  often  it  doesn't  last  long  with 
them,  and  they  find  their  level  before  they  are 
twenty  years  old.  You  see,  children  are  mostly 
given  to  imitating  their  elders,  and  when  they 
see  most  people  about  them  engaged  in  genuinely 
amusing  work,  like  house-building  and  street- 
paving,  and  gardening,  and  the  like,  that  is  what 
they  want  to  be  doing;  so  I  don't  think  we  need 
fear  having  too  many  book-learned  men." 

"What  could  I  say  ?  I  sat  and  held  my  peace,  for 
fear  of  fresh  entanglements.  Besides,  I  was  using 
my  eyes  with  all  my  might,  wondering  as  the  old 
horse  jogged  on  when  I  should  come  into  London 
proper,  and  what  it  would  be  like  now. 

But  my  companion  could  n't  let  his  subject  quite 
drop,  and  went  on  meditatively  :  — 

"  After  all,  I  don't  know  that  it  does  them  much 
harm,  even  if  they  grow  up  book-students.  Such 
people  as  that,  't  is  a  great  pleasure  seeing  them  so 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF    REST.  47 

happy  over  work  which  is  not  much  sought  for. 
And  besides,  these  students  are  generally  such 
pleasant  people ;  so  kind  and  sweet-tempered,  so 
humble,  and  at  the  same  time  so  anxious  to  teach 
everybody  all  that  they  know.  Really,  I  like  those 
that  I  have  met  prodigiously." 

This  seemed  to  me  such  very  queer  talk  that  I 
was  on  the  point  of  asking  him  another  question ; 
when  just  as  we  came  to  the  top  of  a  rising  ground, 
down  a  long  glade  of  the  wood  on  my  right  I  caught 
sight  of  a  stately  building  whose  outline  was 
familiar  to  me,  and  I  cried  out,  '"  Westminster 
Abbey ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Dick,  "Westminster  Abbey  —  what 
there  is  left  of  it." 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  what  have  you  done  with  it  ?  " 

"  What  have  we  done  with  it  ?  "  said  he ;  "  noth- 
ing much,  save  clean  it.  But  you  know  the  whole 
outside  was  spoiled  centuries  ago ;  as  to  the  inside, 
that  remains  in  its  beauty  after  the  great  clearance, 
which  took  place  over  a  hundred  years  ago,  of  the 
beastly  monuments  to  fools  and  knaves,  which  once 
blocked  it  up,  as  great-grandfather  says." 

We  went  on  a  little  further,  and  I  looked  to  the 
right  again,  and  said,  in  rather  a  doubtful  tone  of 
voice,  "  Why,  there  are  the  Houses  of  Parliament ! 
Do  you  still' use  them  ?*" 

He  burst  out  laughing,  and  was  some  time  before 
he  could  control  himself;  then  he  clapped  me  on 
the  back  and  said,  — 

"  I  take  you,  neighbor ;  you  may  well  wonder  at 
our  keeping  them  standing ;  and  I  know  something 
about  that,  and  my  old  kinsman  has  given  me 
books  to  read  about  the  games  that  went  on  there. 


48  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

Use  them !  Well,  yes,  they  are  used  for  a  sort  of 
subsidiary  market,  and  a  storage  place  for  manure, 
and  they  are  handy  for  that,  being  on  the  water- 
side. I  believe  it  was  intended  to  pull  them  down 
quite  at  the  beginning  of  our  days  ;  but  there  was, 
I  am  told,  a  queer  antiquarian  society,  which  had 
done  some  service  in  past  times,  and  which  straight- 
way set  up  its  pipe  against  their  destruction,  as  it 
has  done  with  many  other  buildings  which  most 
people  looked  upon  as  worthless,  and  public  nui- 
sances ;  and  it  was  so  energetic,  and  had  such  good 
reasons  to  give,  that  it  generally  gained  its  point ; 
and  I  must  say  that  when  all  is  said  I  am  glad  of 
it ;  because  you  know  at  the  worst  these  silly  old 
buildings  serve  as  a  kind  of  foil  to  the  beautiful 
ones  which  we  build  now.  You  will  see  several 
others  in  these  parts;  the  place  my  great-grand- 
father lives  in,  for  instance,  and  a  big  building 
called  St.  Paul's.  And  you  see,  in  this  matter  we 
need  not  grudge  a  few  poorish  buildings  standing, 
because  we  can  always  build  elsewhere ;  nor  need 
we  be  anxious  as  to  the  breeding  of  pleasant  work 
in  such  matters,  for  there  is  always  room  for  more 
and  more  work  in  a  new  building,  even  without 
making  it  pretentious.  For  instance,  elbow-room 
within  doors  is  to  me  so  delightful  that  if  I  were 
driven  to  it  I  would  almost  sacrifice  out-door  space 
to    it. 

"  Then,  of  course,  there  is  the  ornament,  which, 
as  we  must  all  allow,  may  easily  be  overdone 
in  mere  living  houses,  but  can  hardly  be  in  mote- 
halls  and  markets,  and  so  forth.  I  must  tell  you 
though  that  my  great-grandfather  sometimes  tells 
me  I  ?,m  a  little  cracked  on  this  subject   of  fine 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  49 

building ;  and  indeed  I  do  think  that  the  ener- 
gies of  mankind  are  chiefly  of  use  to  them  for 
such  work,  for  in  that  direction  I  can  see  no  end  to 
the  work,  while  in  many  others  a  limit  does  seem 
possible." 


50  NEWS   FROM  NOWHERE; 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A    LITTLE    SHOPPING. 

AS  he  spoke,  we  came  suddenly  out  of  the  wood. 
-**■  land  into  a  short  street  of  handsomely  built 
houses,  which  my  companion  named  to  me  at  once 
as  Piccadilly ;  the  lower  part  of  these  I  should 
have  called  shops,  if  it  had  not  been  that,  as  far 
as  I  could  see,  the  people  were  ignorant  of  the  arts 
of  buying  and  selling.  Wares  were  displayed  in 
their  finely  designed  fronts,  as  if  to  tempt  people 
in,  and  people  stood  and  looked  at  them,  or  went 
in  and  came  out  with  parcels  under  their  arms,  just 
like  the  real  thing.  On  each  side  of  the  street  ran 
an  elegant  arcade  to  protect  foot-passengers,  as  in 
some  of  the  old  Italian  cities.  About  half-way 
down,  a  huge  building  of  the  kind  I  was  now  pre- 
pared to  expect  told  me  that  this  also  was  a  centre 
of  some  kind,  and  had  its  special  public  buildings. 

Said  Dick:  "Here,  you  see,  is  another  market, 
on  a  different  plan  from  most  others.  The  upper 
stories  of  these  houses  are  used  for  guest-houses ; 
for  people  from  all  about  the  country  are  apt  to 
drift  up  hither  from  time  to  time,  as  folks  are 
very  thick  upon  the  ground,  which  you  will  see 
evidence  of  presently,  and  there  are  people  who  are 
fond  of  crowds  ;  though  I  can't  say  that  I  am." 

I  could  n't  help  smiling  to  see  how  long  a  tradi- 
tion would  last.     Here  was  the  ghost  of  London 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  51 

still  asserting  itself  as  a  centre,  —  an  intellectual 
centre,  for  aught  I  knew.  However,  I  said  noth- 
ing, except  that  I  asked  him  to  drive  very  slowly, 
as  the  things  in  the  booths  looked  exceedingly 
pretty. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "this  is  a  very  good  market  for 
pretty  things,  and  is  mostly  kept  for  the  hand- 
somer goods,  as  the  Houses  of  Parliament  market, 
where  they  set  out  cabbages  and  turnips  and  such 
like  things,  along  with  beer  and  the  rougher  kind 
of  wine,  is  so  near." 

Then  he  looked  at  me  curiously,  and  said,  "  Per- 
haps you  would  like  to  do  a  little  shopping,  as  't  is 
called." 

I  looked  at  what  I  could  see  of  my  rough  blue 
duds,  which  I  had  had  plenty  of  opportunity  of 
contrasting  with  the  gay  attire  of  the  citizens  we 
had  come  across ;  and  I  thought  that  if,  as  seemed 
likely,  I  should  presently  be  shown  about  as  a 
curiosity  for  the  amusement  of  this  most  unbusi- 
nesslike people,  I  should  like  to  look  a  little  less 
like  a  discharged  ship's  purser.  But  in  spite  of 
all  that  had  happened,  my  hand  went  down  into 
my  pocket  again,  where  to  my  dismay  it  met 
nothing  metallic  except  two  rusty  old  keys,  and  I 
remembered  that  amid  our  talk  in  the  guest-hall 
at  Hammersmith  I  had  taken  the  cash  out  of  my 
pocket  to  show  to  the  pretty  Annie,  and  had  left 
it  lying  there.  My  face  fell  fifty  per  cent,  and 
Dick,  beholding  me,  said  rather  sharply, — 

"  Hillo,  guest !  what 's  the  matter  now  ?  Is  it 
a  wasp  ?  " 

"No,"  said  I,  "but  I've  left  it  behind." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  whatever  you  have  left  behind 


52  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

you  can  get  in  this  market,  so  don't  trouble  your- 
self about  it." 

I  had  come  to  my  senses  by  this  time,  and  re- 
membering the  astounding  customs  of  this  country, 
had  no  mind  for  another  lecture  on  social  economy 
and  the  Edwardian  coinage ;  so  I  said  only,  — 

"  My  clothes  —  Could  n't  I  ?  You  see  —  What 
do  you  think  could  be  done  about  them  ?  " 

He  didn't  seem  in  the  least  inclined  to  laugh, 
but  said  quite  gravely, — 

"  0  don't  get  new  clothes  yet.  You  see  my  great- 
grandfather is  an  antiquarian,  and  he  will  want  to 
see  you  just  as  you  are.  And,  you  know,  I  mustn't 
preach  to  you,  but  surely  it  would  n't  be  right  for 
you  to  take  away  people's  pleasure  of  studying 
your  attire  by  just  going  and  making  yourself  like 
everybody  else.  You  feel  that,  don't  you  ?  "  said 
he,  earnestly. 

I  did  not  feel  it  my  duty  to  stick  myself  up  for 
a  scarecrow  amid  this  beauty-loving  people,  but 
I  saw  I  had  got  across  some  ineradicable  preju- 
dice, and  that  it  wouldn't  do  to  quarrel  with  my 
new  friend.  So  I  merely  said,  "  Oh,  certainly, 
certainly." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  pleasantly,  "  you  may  as  well 
see  what  the  inside  of  these  booths  is  like ;  think 
of  something  you  want." 

Said  I,  "Could  I  get  some  tobacco  and  a 
pipe  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  he ;  "  what  was  I  thinking  of, 
not  asking  you  before  ?  Well,  Bob  is  always  telling 
me  that  we  non-smokers  are  a  selfish  lot,  and  I  'm 
afraid  he  is  right.  But  come  along ;  here  is  a  place 
just  handy." 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  53 

Therewith  he  drew  rein  and  jumped  down,  and 
I  followed.  A  very  handsome  woman,  splendidly 
clad  in  figured  silk,  was  slowly  passing  by,  looking 
into  the  windows  as  she  went.  To  her  quoth  Dick  : 
"'  Maiden,  would  you  kindly  hold  our  horse  while 
we  go  in  for  a  little  ?  "  She  nodded  to  us  with  a 
kind  smile,  and  fell  to  patting  the  horse  with  her 
pretty  hand. 

"  What  a  beautiful  creature  !  "  said  I  to  Dick  as 
we  entered. 

"  What,  old  Greylocks  ? "  said  he,  with  a  sly 
grin. 

"No,  no,"  said  I ;  " Goldylocks,  —  the  lady." 

"  Well,  so  she  is,"  said  he.  "  'T  is  a  good  job 
there  are  so  many  of  them  that  every  Jack  may 
have  his  Jill ;  else  I  fear  that  we  should  get 
fighting  for  them.  Indeed,"  said  he,  becoming 
very  grave,  "I  don't  say  that  it  does  not  happen 
even  now,  sometimes.  For  you  know  love  is  not 
a  very  reasonable  thing,  and  perversity  and  self- 
will  are  commoner  than  some  of  our  moralists 
think."  He  added  in  a  still  more  sombre  tone : 
"  Yes,  only  a  month  ago  there  was  a  mishap  down 
by  us  that  in  the  end  cost  the  lives  of  two  men 
and  a  woman,  and  as  it  were  put  out  the  sunlight 
for  us  for  a  while.  Don't  ask  me  about  it  just 
now;  I  may  tell  you  about  it  later  on." 

By  this  time  we  were  within  the  shop  or  booth, 
which  had  a  counter  and  shelves  on  the  walls,  all 
very  neat,  though  without  any  pretence  of  showi- 
ness,  but  otherwise  not  very  different  to  what  I 
had  been  used  to.  Within  were  a  couple  of  chil- 
dren— a  brown-skinned  boy,  of  about  twelve,  who 
sat  reading  a  book,  and  a  pretty  little  girl  about  a 


54  NEWS  FBOM   NOWHERE  ; 

year  older,  who  was  sitting  also  reading  behind  the 
counter  ;  they  were  obviously  brother  and  sister. 

"  Good  morning,  little  neighbors,"  said  Dick. 
"  My  friend  here  wants  tobacco  and  a  pipe ;  can 
you  help  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly,"  said  the  girl  with  a  sort  of 
demure  alertness  which  was  somewhat  amusing. 
The  boy  looked  up,  and  fell  staring  at  my  out- 
landish attire,  but  presently  reddened  and  turned 
his  head,  as  if  he  knew  that  he  was  not  behaving 
prettily. 

"Dear  neighbor,"  said  the  girl,  with  the  most 
solemn  countenance  of  a  child  playing  at  keeping 
shop,  "what  tobacco  is  it  you  would  like  ?  " 

"  Latakia,"  quoth  I,  feeling  as  if  I  were  assisting 
at  a  child's  game,  and  wondering  whether  I  should 
get  anything  but  make-believe. 

But  the  girl  took  a  dainty  little  basket  from  a 
shelf  beside  her,  went  to  a  jar,  and  took  out  a  lot 
of  tobacco  and  put  the  filled  basket  down  on  the 
counter  before  me,  where  I  could  both  smell  and 
see  that  it  was  excellent  Latakia. 

"  But  you  have  n't  weighed  it,"  said  I ;  "  and  — 
and  how  much  am  I  to  take  ?  " 

"  Why,"  she  said,  "  I  advise  you  to  cram  your 
bag,  because  you  may  be  going  where  you  can't  get 
Latakia.     Where  is  your  bag  ?  " 

I  fumbled  about,  and  at  last  pulled  out  my  piece 
of  cotton  print  which  does  duty  with  me  for  a  to- 
bacco pouch.  But  the  girl  looked  at  it  with  some 
disdain,  and  said,  — 

"  Dear  neighbor,  I  can  give  you  something  much 
better  than  that  cotton  rag."  And  she  tripped  up 
the  shop  and  came  back  presently,  and  as   she 


OK,   AN    EPOCH   OF   KEST.  55 

passed  the  boy  whispered  something  in  his  ear,  and 
lie  nodded  and  got  up  and  went  out.  The  girl 
held  up  in  her  finger  and  thumb  a  red  morocco  bag, 
gayly  embroidered,  and  said,  "  There,  I  've  chosen 
one  for  you,  and  you  are  to  have  it;  it  is  pretty, 
and  will  hold  a  lot." 

Therewith  she  fell  to  cramming  it  with  the  to- 
bacco, and  laid  it  down  by  me  and  said  :  "  Now  for 
the  pipe  ;  that  also  you  must  let  me  choose  for 
you ;  there  are  three  pretty  ones  just  come  in." 

She  disappeared  again,  and  came  back  with  a  big- 
bowled  pipe  in  her  hand,  carved  out  of  some  hard 
wood  very  elaborately,  and  mounted  in  gold  sprink- 
led with  little  gems.  It  was,  in  short,  as  pretty 
and  gay  a  toy  as  I  had  ever  seen,  —  something  like 
the  best  kind  of  Japanese  work,  but  better. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  I,  when  I  set  eyes  on  it,  "  this 
is  altogether  too  grand  for  me,  or  for  anybody  but 
the  Emperor  of  the  World.  Besides,  I  shall  lose 
it ;  I  always  lose  my  pipes." 

The  child  seemed  rather  dashed,  and  said,  "  Don't 
you  like  it,  neighbor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  said,  "  of  course  I  like  it." 

"Well,  then,  take  it,"  said  she,  "  and  don't  trouble 
about  losing  it.  What  will  it  matter  if  you  do  ? 
Somebody  is  sure  to  find  it,  and  he  will  use  it,  and 
you  can  get  another." 

I  took  it  out  of  her  hand  to  look  at  it,  and  while 
I  did  so  forgot  my  caution,  and  said,  "  But  however 
am  I  to  pay  for  such  a  thing  as  this  ?  " 

Dick  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  as  I  spoke, 
and  turning  I  met  his  eyes  with  a  comical  expres- 
sion in  them,  which  warned  me  against  another 
exhibition   of   extinct   commercial  morality ;   so  I 


56  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

reddened  and  held  my  tongue,  while  the  girl  simply 
looked  at  me  with  the  deepest  gravity,  as  if  I  were 
a  foreigner  blundering  in  my  speech,  for  she  clearly 
did  n't  understand  me  a  bit. 

"  Thank  you  so  very  much,"  I  said  at  last,  effu- 
sively, as  I  put  the  pipe  in  my  pocket,  not  without 
a  qualm  of  doubt  as  to  whether  I  should  n't  find 
myself  before  a  magistrate  presently. 

"  0,  you  are  so  very  Avelcome,"  said  the  little 
lass,  with  an  affectation  of  grown-up  manners  at 
their  best,  which  was  very  quaint.  "  It  is  such  a 
pleasure  to  serve  dear  old  gentlemen  like  you ;  es- 
pecially when  one  can  see  at  once  that  you  have 
come  from  far  over  the  sea." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  quoth  I,  "  I  have  been  a  great 
traveller." 

As  I  told  this  lie  from  pure  politeness,  in  came 
the  lad  again,  with  a  tray  in  his  hands,  on  which  I 
saw  a  long  flask  and  two  beautiful  glasses.  "  iSTeigh- 
bors,"  said  the  girl  (who  did  all  the  talking,  her 
brother  being  very  shy,  clearly),  "  please  to  drink 
a  glass  to  us  before  you  go,  since  we  do  not  have 
guests  like  this  every  day." 

Therewith  the  boy  put  the  tray  on  the  counter 
and  solemnly  poured  out  a  straw-colored  wine  into 
the  long  bowls.  Nothing  loath,  I  drank,  for  I  was 
thirsty  with  the  hot  day  ;  and  thinks  I,  I  am  yet  in 
the  world,  and  the  grapes  of  the  Rhine  have  not 
yet  lost  their  flavor.  For  if  ever  I  drank  good  Stein- 
berg, I  drank  it  that  morning ;  and  I  made  a  men- 
tal note  to  ask  Dick  how  they  managed  to  make 
fine  wine  when  there  were  no  longer  laborers  com- 
pelled to  drink  rot-gut  instead  of  the  fine  wine 
which  they  themselves  made. 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  57 

"  Don't  you  drink  a  glass  to  us,  dear  little  neigh- 
bors ?  "  said  I. 

"  I  don't  drink  wine,"  said  the  lass  ;  "  I  like  lem- 
onade better  ;  but  I  wish  your  health." 

"And  I  like  ginger-beer  better,"  said  the  little 
lad. 

Well,  well,  thought  I,  neither  have  children's 
tastes  changed  much.  And  therewith  we  gave 
them  good-day  and  went  out  of  the  booth. 

To  my  disappointment,  like  a  change  in  a  dream, 
a  tall  old  man  was  holding  our  horse,  instead  of  the 
beautiful  woman.  He  explained  to  us  that  the 
maiden  could  not  wait,  and  that  he  had  taken  her 
place ;  and  he  winked  at  us  and  laughed  when  he 
saw  how  our  faces  fell,  so  that  we  had  nothing  for 
it  but  to  laugh  also. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  said  he  to  Dick. 

"  To  Bloomsbury,"  said  Dick. 

"  If  you  two  don't  want  to  be  alone,  I  '11  come 
with  you,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  All  right,"  said  Dick,  "  tell  me  when  you  want 
to  get  down  and  I  '11  stop  for  you.     Let 's  get  on." 

So  we  got  under  way  again ;  and  I  asked  if 
children  generally  waited  on  people  in  the  markets. 
"  Often  enough,"  said  he,  "  when  it  is  n't  a  matter 
of  dealing  with  heavy  weights,  but  by  no  means 
always.  The  children  like  to  amuse  themselves 
with  it,  and  it  is  good  for  them,  because  they 
handle  a  lot  of  diverse  wares  and  get  to  learn  about 
them,  how  they  are  made  and  where  they  come 
from,  and  so  on.  Besides,  it  is  such  very  easy 
work  that  anybody  can  do  it.  It  is  said  that  in 
the  early  days  of  our  epoch  there  were  a  good 
many  people  who  were  hereditarily  afflicted  with 


58  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

A  disease  called  Idleness,  because  they  were  the 
direct  descendants  of  those  who  in  the  bad  times 
used  to  force  other  people  to  work  for  them,  —  the 
people,  you  know,  who  are  called  slave-holders  or 
employers  of  labor  in  the  history  books.  Well, 
these  Idleness-stricken  people  used  to  serve  booths 
all  their  time,  because  they  were  fit  for  so  little. 
Indeed,  I  believe  that  at  one  time  they  were  act- 
ually compelled  to  do  some  such  work,  because  they, 
especially  the  women,  got  so  ugly  and  produced 
such  ugly  children  that  the  neighbors  could  n't 
stand  it.  However,  I  'm  happy  to  say  that  all  that 
is  gone  by  now;  the  disease  is  either  extinct  or 
exists  in  such  a  mild  form  that  a  short  course  of 
aperient  medicine  carries  it  off.  It  is  sometimes 
called  the  Blue-devils  now,  or  the  Mulleygrubs. 
Queer  names,  ain't  they  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  I.  pondering  much.  But  the  old 
man  broke  in,  — 

"Yes,  all  that  is  true,  neighbor;  and  I  have 
seen  some  of  those  poor  women  grown  old.  But 
my  father  used  to  know  some  of  them  when  they 
were  young ;  and  he  said  that  they  were  as  little 
like  young  women  as  might  be  :  they  had  hands  like 
bunches  of  skeAvers,  and  wretched  little  arms  like 
sticks ;  and  waists  like  hour-glasses,  and  thin  lips 
and  peaked  noses  and  pale  cheeks ;  and  they  were 
always  pretending  to  be  offended  at  anything  you 
said  or  did  to  them.  Xo  wonder  they  bore  ugly 
children,  for  no  one  except  men  like  them  could  be 
in  love  with  them  —  poor  things  !  " 

He  stopped,  and  seemed  to  be  musing  on  his 
past  life,  and  then  said,  — 

"And  do  you  know,  neighbors,  that  once  on  a 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  59 

time  people  were  still  anxious  about  that  disease 
of  Idleness  ;  at  one  time  we  gave  ourselves  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  in  trying  to  cure  people  of  it. 
Have  you  not  read  any  of  the  medical  books  on  the 
subject  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I ;  for  the  old  man  was  speaking 
to  me. 

"Well,"  said  he,   "it  was  thought  at  the  time 
that  it  was  the  survival  of  the  old  mediaeval  dis- 
ease of  leprosy.    It  seems  it  was  very  catching,  for 
many  of  the  people  afflicted  by  it  were  much  se-  \ 
eluded,  and  were  waited  upon  by  a  special  class  of  i 
diseased  persons  queerly  dressed  up,  so  that  they  \ 
might  be  known.     They  wore,    among  other   gar- 
ments, breeches  made  of  worsted  velvet,  that  stuff 
which  used  to  be  called  plush  some  years  ago." 

All  this  seemed  very  interesting  to  me,  and  I 
should  like  to  have  made  the  old  man  talk  more. 
But  Dick  got  rather  restive  under  so  much  ancient 
history ;  besides,  I  suspect  he  wanted  to  keep  me 
as  fresh  as  he  could  for  his  great-grandfather.  So 
he  burst  out  laughing  at  last,  and  said :  "  Excuse 
me,  neighbors,  but  I  can't  help  it.  Fancy  people  .. 
not  liking  to  work  !  —  it 's  too  ridiculous.  Why, 
even  you  like  to  work,  old  fellow  —  sometimes," 
said  he,  affectionately  patting  the  old  horse  with 
the  whip.  "  What  a  queer  disease  !  it  may  well  be 
called  Mulleygrubs  ! " 

And  he  laughed  out  again  most  boisterously; 
rather  too  much  so,  I  thought,  for  his  usual  good 
manners ;  and  I  laughed  with  him  for  company's 
sake,  but  from  the  teeth  outward  only ;  for  I  saw 
nothing  funny  in  people  not  liking  to  work,  as  you 
may  well  imagine. 


60  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE 


CHAPTER    VII. 

TRAFALGAR   SQUARE. 

AND  now  again  I  was  busy  looking  about  me,  for 
•  we  were  quite  clear  of  Piccadilly  Market,  and 
were  in  a  region  of  elegantly  built,  much  ornamented 
houses,  which  I  should  have  called  villas  if  they 
had  been  ugly  and  pretentious,  which  was  very  far 
from  being  the  case.  Each  house  stood  in  a  garden 
carefully  cultivated,  and  running  over  with  flowers. 
The  blackbirds  were  singing  their  best  amid  the 
garden-trees,  which,  except  for  a  bay  here  and  there, 
and  occasional  groups  of  limes,  seemed  to  be  all 
fruit-trees.  There  were  a  great  many  cherry-trees, 
now  all  laden  with  fruit ;  and  several  times  as  we 
passed  by  a  garden  we  were  offered  baskets  of  fine 
fruit  by  children  and  young  girls.  Amid  all  these 
gardens  and  houses  it  was  of  course  impossible  to 
trace  the  sites  of  the  old  streets  ;  but  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  main  roadways  were  the  same  as 
of  old. 

We  came  presently  into  a  large  open  space,  slop- 
ing somewhat  toward  the  south,  the  sunny  site  of 
which  had  been  taken  advantage  of  for  planting  an 
orchard,  mainly,  as  I  could  see,  of  apricot-trees,  in 
the  midst  of  which  was  a  pretty,  gay  little  structure 
of  wood,  painted  and  gilded,  that  looked  like  a  re- 
freshment-stall. From  the  southern  side  of  the 
said  orchard  ran  a  long  road,  checkered  over  with 


OR,   AN   EPOCH    OF   REST.  61 

the  shadow  of  tall  old  pear-trees,  at  the  end  of 
which  showed  the  tall  tower  of  the  Parliament 
House,  or  Dung  Market. 

A  strange  sensation  came  over  me ;  I  shut  my 
eyes  to  keep  out  the  sight  of  the  sun  glittering  on 
this  fair  abode  of  gardens,  and  for  a  moment  there 
passed  before  them  a  phantasmagoria  of  another 
day.  A  great  space  surrounded  by  tall  ugly  houses, 
with  an  ugly  church  at  the  corner  and  a  nonde- 
script ugly  cupolaed  building  at  my  back ;  the 
roadway  thronged  with  a  sweltering  and  excited 
crowd,  dominated  by  omnibuses,  crowded  with 
spectators.  In  the  midst  a  paved,  be-fountained 
square,  populated  only  by  a  few  men  dressed  in 
blue,  and  a  good  many  singularly  ugly  bronze 
images  (one  on  the  top  of  a  tall  column),  —  the 
said  square  guarded  up  to  the  edge  of  the  road- 
way by  a  four-fold  line  of  big  men  clad  in  blue, 
and  across  the  southern  roadway  the  helmets  of  a 
band  of  horse-soldiers,  dead  white  in  the  grayness 
of  the  chilly  November  afternoon. 

I  opened  my  eyes  to  the  sunlight  again  and 
looked  round  me,  and  cried  out  among  the  whis- 
pering trees  and  odorous  blossoms,  "  Trafalgar 
Square  !  " 

"Yes,"  said  Dick,  who  had  drawn  rein  again, 
"so  it  is.  I  don't  wonder  at  your  finding  the 
name  ridiculous ;  but  after  all,  it  was  nobody's 
business  to  alter  it,  since  the  name  of  a  dead  folly 
does  n't  bite.  Yet  sometimes  I  think  we  might 
have  given  it  a  name  which  would  have  commem- 
orated the  great  battle  which  was  fought  on  the 
spot  itself  in  1952,  —  that  was  important  enough, 
if  the  historians  don't  lie." 


62  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

"  Which  they  generally  do,  or  at  least  did,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  For  instance,  what  can  you  make 
of  this,  neighbors  ?  I  have  read  a  muddled  ac- 
count in  a  book  —  oh,  a  stupid  book  !  —  called 
'  James'  Social  Democratic  History,'  of  a  fight  which 
took  place  here  in  or  about  the  year  1887  (I  am 
bad  at  dates).  Some  people,  says  this  story,  were 
going  to  hold  a  ward-mote  here,  or  some  such 
thing,  and  the  Government  of  London,  or  the 
Council,  or  the  Commission,  or  what  not  other 
barbarous,  half-hatched  body  of  fools,  fell  upon 
these  citizens  (as  they  were  then  called)  with  the 
armed  hand.  That  seems  too  ridiculous  to  be 
true ;  but  according  to  this  version  of  the  story, 
nothing  much  came  of  it,  which  certainly  is  too 
ridiculous  to  be  true." 

"  Well,"  quoth  I,  "  but  after  all  your  Mr.  James 
is  right  so  far,  and  it  is  true ;  except  that  there  was 
no  fighting,  merely  unarmed  and  peaceable  people 
attacked  by  ruffians  armed  with  bludgeons." 

"And  they  put  up  with  that?"  said  Dick,  with 
the  first  unpleasant  expression  I  had  seen  on  his 
good-tempered  face. 

Said  I,  reddening  :  "  We  had  to  put  up  with  it ; 
we  could  n't  help  it." 

The  old  man  looked  at  me  keenly,  and  said : 
"  You  seem  to  know  a  great  deal  about  it,  neighbor. 
And  is  it  really  true  that  nothing  came  of  it  ?  " 

"  This  came  of  it,"  said  I,  "  that  a  good  many 
people  were  sent  to  prison  because  of  it." 

"  What,  of  the  bludgeoners  ?  "  said  the  old  man. 
"  Poor  devils  ! " 

"  No,  no,"  said  I,  "  of  the  bludgeoned." 

Said  the  old  man  rather  severely :   "  Friend,  I 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  63 

expect  that  you  have  been  reading  some  rotten 
collection  of  lies,  and  have '  been  taken  in  by  it 
too  easily." 

"I  assure  you,"  said  I,  "what  I  have  been  saying 
is  true." 

"Well,  well,  I  am  sure  you  think  so,  neighbor," 
said  the  old  man,  "  but  I  don't  see  why  you  should 
be  so  cocksure." 

As  I  could  n't  explain  why,  I  held  my  tongue. 
Meanwhile  Dick,  who  had  been  sitting  with  knit 
brows  cogitating,  spoke  at  last,  and  said  gently 
and  rather  sadly,  — 

"  How  strange  to  think  that  there  have  been 
men  like  ourselves,  and  living  in  this  beautiful  and 
happy  country,  Avho  I  suppose  had  feelings  and 
affections  like  ourselves,  who  could  yet  do  such 
dreadful  things." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  in  a  didactic  tone  ;  "  yet  after  all, 
even  those  days  were  a  great  improvement  on  the 
days  that  had  gone  before  them.  Have  you  not 
read  of  the  Mediaeval  period  and  the  ferocity  of  its 
criminal  laws  ;  and  how  in  those  days  men  fairly 
seem  to  have  enjoyed  tormenting  their  fellow-men  ? 
—  nay,  for  the  matter  of  that,  they  made  their  God 
a  tormentor  and  a  jailer  rather  than  anything  else." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  "  there  are  good  books  on  that 
period  also,  some  of  which  I  have  read.  But  as  to 
the  great  improvement  of  the  nineteenth  century,  I 
don't  see  it.  After  all,  the  Mediaeval  folk  acted 
after  their  conscience,  as  your  remark  about  their 
God  (which  is  true)  shows,  and  they  were  ready  to 
bear  what  they  inflicted  upon  others  ;  whereas  the 
nineteenth-century  ones  were  hypocrites,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  humane,  and  yet  went  on  tormenting 


64  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

those  whom  they  dared  to  treat  so  by  shutting 
them  up  in  prison,  for  no  reason  at  all,  except  that 
they  were  what  they  themselves,  the  prison-mas- 
ters, had  forced  them  to  be.  Oh,  it 's  horrible  to 
think  of ! " 

"  But  perhaps,"  said  I,  "  they  did  not  know  what 
the  prisons  were  like." 

Dick  seemed  roused,  and  even  angry.  "  More 
shame  for  them,"  said  he,  "  when  you  and  I  know 
it  all  these  years  afterwards.  Look  you,  neighbor, 
they  could  n't  fail  to  know  what  a  disgrace  a  prison 
is  to  the  commonwealth  at  the  best,  and  that  their 
prisons  were  a  good  step  on  towards  being  at  the 
worst." 

Quoth  I :  "  But  have  you  no  prisons  at  all  now  ?  " 

As  soon  as  the  words  were  out  of  my  mouth  I 
felt  that  I  had  made  a  mistake,  for  Dick  flushed 
red  and  frowned,  and  the  old  man  looked  surprised 
and  pained ;  and  presently  Dick  said  angrily,  yet 
as  if  restraining  himself  somewhat,  — 

"  Man  alive  !  how  can  you  ask  such  a  question  ? 
Have  I  not  told  you  that  we  know  what  a  prison 
means  by  the  undoubted  evidence  of  really  trust- 
worthy books,  helped  out  by  our  own  imaginations? 
And  have  n't  you  specially  called  me  to  notice  that 
the  people  about  the  roads  and  streets  look  happy ; 
and  how  could  they  look  happy  if  they  knew  that 
their  neighbors  were  shut  up  in  prison,  while  they 
bore  such  things  quietly  ?  And  if  there  were  people 
in  prison,  you  could  n't  hide  it  from  folk,  like  you 
may  an  occasional  man-slaying ;  because  that  is  n't 
done  of  set  purpose,  with  a  lot  of  people  backing  up 
the  slayer  in  cold  blood,  as  this  prison  business  is. 
Prisons,  indeed !     Oh  no,  no,  no  ! " 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  65 

He  stopped,  and.  began  to  cool  down,  and  said  in 
a  kind  voice  :  "  But  forgive  me  !  I  need  n't  be  so 
hot  about  it,  since  there  are  not  any  prisons ;  I  'm 
afraid  you  will  think  the  worse  of  me  for  losing  my 
temper.  Of  course,  you,  coming  from  the  outlands, 
cannot  be  expected  to  know  about  these  things. 
And  now  I  'm  afraid  I  have  made  you  feel  uncom- 
fortable." 

In  a  way  he  had ;  but  he  was  so  generous  in  his 
heat,  that  I  liked  him  the  better  for  it,  and  I  said  : 
"  No,  really  't  is  all  my  fault  for  being  so  stupid. 
Let  me  change  the  subject,  and  ask  you  what  the 
stately  building  is  on  our  left,  just  showing  at  the 
end  of  that  grove  of  plane-trees  ?  " 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "that  is  an  old  building,  built 
quite  in  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  century, 
and  as  you  see,  in  a  queer,  fantastic  style  not  over 
beautiful ;  but  there  are  some  fine  things  inside  it, 
too,  mostly  pictures,  some  very  old.  It  is  called 
the  National  Gallery.  I  have  sometimes  puzzled 
as  to  what  the  name  means.  AnyhoAv,  nowadays, 
wherever  there  is  a  place  where  pictures  are  kept 
as  curiosities  permanently  it  is  called  a  National 
Gallery,  —  perhaps  after  this  one.  Of  course 
there  are  a  good  many  of  them  up  and  down  the 
country." 

I  did  n't  try  to  enlighten  him,  feeling  the  task 
too  heavy;  but  I  pulled  out  my  magnificent  pipe 
and  fell  a-smoking,  and  the  old  horse  jogged  on 
again.     As  we  went,  I  said, — 

"  This  pipe  is  a  very  elaborate  toy,  and  you  seem 
so  reasonable  in  this  country,  and  your  architecture 
is  so  good,  that  I  rather  wonder  at  your  turning  out 
such  trivialities." 

5 


66  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

It  struck  me  as  I  spoke  that  this  was  rather  un- 
grateful of  me,  after  having  received  such  a  fine 
present ;  but  Dick  did  n't  seem  to  notice  my  bad 
manners,  but  said,  — 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  it  is  a  pretty  thing ;  and 
since  nobody  need  make  such  things  unless  they 
like,  I  don't  see  why  they  should  n't  make  them  if 
they  like.  Of  course,  if  carvers  were  scarce  they 
would  all  be  busy  on  the  architecture,  as  you  call 
it,  and  then  these  <  toys '  (a  good  word)  would  not 
be  made ;  but  since  there  are  plenty  of  people  who 
can  carve,  —  in  fact,  almost  everybody,  —  and  as 
work  is  somewhat  scarce,  or  we  are  afraid  it  may 
be,  folk  do  not  discourage  this  kind  of  petty 
work." 

He  mused  a  little,  and  seemed  somewhat  per- 
turbed ;  but  presently  his  face  cleared,  and  he 
said :  "  After  all,  you  must  admit  that  the  pipe  is 
a  very  pretty  thing,  with  the  little  people  under 
the  trees  all  cut  so  clean  and  sweet ;  too  elaborate 
for  a  pipe,  perhaps,  but  —  well,  it  is  very  pretty." 

"  Too  valuable  for  its  use,  perhaps,"  said  I. 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  said  he.    « I  don't  understand." 

I  was  just  going  in  a  helpless  way  to  try  to  make 
him  understand,  when  we  came  by  the  gates  of  a 
big,  rambling  building,  in  which  work  of  some  sort 
seemed  going  on.  "  What  building  is  that  ?  "  said 
T,  eagerly,  for  it  was  a  pleasure  amid  all  these 
strange  things  to  see  something  a  little  like  what 
I  was  used  to ;  "  it  seems  to  be  a  factory." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  know  what  you  mean, 
and  that 's  what  it  is ;  but  we  don't  call  them  fac- 
tories now,  but  Banded-workshops,  —  that  is,  places 
where  people  collect  who  want  to  work  together." 


OK,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  67 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  "  power  of  some  sort  is  used 
there  ? " 

"  No,  no,"  said  he.  "  Why  should  people  collect 
together  to  use  power  when  they  can  have  it  at  the 
places  where  they  live,  or  hard  by,  any  two  or  three 
of  them,  —  or  any  one,  for  the  matter  of  that  ? 
No,  folk  collect  in  these  Banded-workshops  to  do 
hand-work  in  which  working  together  is  necessary 
or  convenient ;  such  work  is  often  very  pleasant. 
In  there,  for  instance,  they  make  pottery  and  glass, 
—  there,  you  can  see  the  tops  of  the  furnaces. 
Well,  of  course  it 's  handy  to  have  fair-sized  ovens 
and  kilns  and  glass  pots,  and  a  good  lot  of  things 
to  use  them  for ;  though  of  course  there  are  a  good 
many  such  places,  as  it  would  be  ridiculous,  if  a 
man  had  a  liking  for  pot-making  or  glass-blowing, 
that  he  should  have  to  live  in  one  place  or  be 
obliged  to  forego  the  work  he  liked." 

"I  see  no  smoke  coming  from  the  furnaces," 
said  I. 

"  Smoke  ?  "  said  Dick.  "  Why  should  you  see 
smoke  ? " 

I  held  my  tongue,  and  he  went  on  :  "  It 's  a  nice 
place  inside,  though  as  plain  as  you  see  outside. 
As  to  the  crafts,  throwing  the  clay  must  be  jolly 
work.  The  glass-blowing  is  rather  a  sweltering 
job,  but  some  folk  like  it  very  much  indeed;  and 
I  don't  much  wonder,  there  is  such  a  sense  of 
power,  when  you  have  got  deft  in  it,  in  dealing 
with  the  hot  metal.  It  makes  a  lot  of  pleasant 
work,"  said  he,  smiling,  "for  however  much  care 
you  take  of  such  goods,  break  they  will  one  day  or 
another,  so  there  is  always  plenty  to  do." 

I  held  my  tongue  and  pondered. 


68  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN    OLD    FRIEND. 

1  X  7E  now  turned  into  a  pleasant  lane  where  the 
*  »  branches  of  great  plane-trees  nearly  met 
overhead,  but  behind  them  lay  low  houses  stand- 
ing rather  close  together. 

"  This  is  Long  Acre,"  quoth  Dick ;  "  so  there 
must  once  have  been  a  cornfield  here.  How  curi- 
ous it  is  that  places  change  so,  and  yet  keep  their 
old  names  !  Just  look,  how  thick  the  houses  stand  ! 
and  they  are  still  going  on  building,  look  you  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "  but  I  think  the  corn- 
fields must  have  been  built  over  before  the  middle 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  I  have  heard  that  about 
here  was  one  of  the  thickest  parts  of  the  town.  But 
I  must  get  down  here,  neighbors  ;  I  have  got  to  call 
on  a  friend  who  lives  in  the  gardens  behind  this 
Long  Acre.     Good-by  and  good  luck,  guest !  " 

And  he  jumped  down  and  strode  away  vigorously, 
like  a  young  man. 

"  How  old  should  you  say  that  neighbor  will  be  ?  " 
said  I  to  Dick,  as  we  lost  sight  of  him ;  for  I  saw 
that  he  was  old,  and  yet  he  looked  dry  and  sturdy, 
like  a  piece  of  old  oak,  —  a  type  of  old  man  I  was 
not  used  to  seeing. 

"  Oh,  about  ninety,  I  should  say,"  said  Dick. 

"  How  long-lived  your  people  must  be  ! "  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  "  certainly  we  have  beaten  the 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  69 

threescore-and-ten  of  the  old  Jewish  proverb-book. 
But  then  you  see  that  was  written  of  Syria,  a  hot, 
dry  country,  where  people  live  faster  than  in  our 
temperate  climate.  However,  I  don't  think  it  mat- 
ters much,  so  long  as  a  man  is  healthy  and  happy 
while  he  is  alive.  But  now,  guest,  we  are  so  near 
to  my  old  kinsman's  dwelling-place  that  I  think  you 
had  better  keep  all  future  questions  for  him." 

I  nodded  a  yes  ;  and  therewith  we  turned  to  the 
left,  and  went  down  a  gentle  slope  through  some 
beautiful  rose-gardens,  laid  out  on  what  I  took  to 
be  the  site  of  Endell  Street.  We  passed  on,  and 
Dick  drew  rein  an  instant  as  we  came  across  a  long 
straightish  road  with  houses  scantily  scattered  up 
and  down  it.  He  waved  his  hand  right  and  left 
and  said,  "  Holborn  that  side,  Oxford  Koad  that. 
This  was  once  a  very  important  part  of  the  crowded 
city  outside  the  ancient  walls  of  the  Roman  and 
Mediaeval  burg ;  many  of  the  feudal  nobles  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  we  are  told,  had  big  houses  on  either 
side  of  Holborn.  I  daresay  you  remember  that  the 
Bishop  of  Ely's  house  is  mentioned  in  Shakspeare's 
play  of  King  Richard  III.,  and  there  are  some  re- 
mains of  that  still  left.  However,  this  road  is  not 
of  the  same  importance  now  that  the  ancient  city  is 
gone,  walls  and  all." 

He  drove  on  again,  while  I  smiled  faintly  to  think 
how  the  nineteenth  century,  of  which  such  big  words 
have  been  said,  counted  for  nothing  in  the  memory 
of  this  man,  who  read  Shakspeare  and  had  not  for- 
gotten the  Middle  Ages. 

We  crossed  the  road  into  a  short  narrow  lane  be- 
tween the  gardens,  and  came  out  again  into  a  wide 
road,  on  one  side  of  which  was  a  great  and  long 


70  NEWS   FROM    NOWHERE  ; 

building,  turning  its  gables  away  from  the  highway, 
which  I  saw  at  once  was  another  public  group. 
Opposite  to  it  was  a  wide  space  of  greenery,  with- 
out any  wall  or  fence  of  any  kind.  I  looked  through 
the  trees  and  saw  beyond  them  a  pillared  portico 
quite  familiar  to  me,  —  no  less  old  a  friend,  in  fact, 
than  the  British  Museum.  It  rather  took  my  breath 
away,  amid  all  the  strange  things  I  had  seen  ;  but 
I  held  my  tongue  and  let  Dick  speak.     Said  he : 

"  Yonder  is  the  British  Museum,  where  my  great 
grandfather  mostly  lives  ;  so  I  won't  say  much  about 
it.  The  building  on  the  left  is  the  Museum  Market, 
and  I  think  we  had  better  turn  in  there  for  a  min- 
ute or  two  ;  for  Greylocks  will  be  wanting  his  rest 
and  his  oats  ;  and  I  suppose  you  will  stay  with  my 
kinsman  the  greater  part  of  the  day;  and  to  say 
the  truth,  there  may  be  some  one  there  whom  I  par- 
ticularly want  to  see,  and  perhaps  have  a  long  talk 
with." 

He  blushed  and  sighed,  not  altogether  with  pleas- 
ure, I  thought ;  so  of  course  I  said  nothing,  and  he 
turned  the  horse  under  an  archway  which  brought 
us  into  a  very  large  paved  quadrangle,  with  a  big 
sycamore-tree  in  each  corner  and  a  plashing  fountain 
in  the  midst.  Near  the  fountain  were  a  few  market 
stalls,  with  awnings  over  them  of  gay  striped  linen 
cloth,  about  which  some  people,  mostly  women  and 
children,  were  moving  quietly,  looking  at  the  goods 
exposed  there.  The  ground  floor  of  the  building 
round  the  quadrangle  was  occupied  by  a  wide  arcade 
or  cloister,  whose  fanciful  but  strong  architecture 
I  could  not  enough  admire.  Here  also  a  few  people 
were  sauntering  or  sitting  reading  on  the  benches. 

Dick  said  to  me  apologetically :  "  Here  as  else- 


OK,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  71 

where  there  is  little  doing  to-day ;  on  a  Friday  you 
would  see  it  thronged  and  gay  with  people,  and  in 
the  afternoon  there  is  generally  music  about  the 
fountain.  However,  I  daresay  we  shall  have  a 
pretty  good  gathering  at  our  mid-day  meal." 

We  drove  through  the  quadrangle,  and  by  an  arch- 
way into  a  large  handsome  stable  on  the  other  side, 
where  we  speedily  stalled  the  old  nag  and  made  him 
happy  with  horse-meat,  and  then  turned  and  walked 
back  again  through  the  market,  Dick  looking  rather 
thoughtful,  as  it  seemed  to  me. 

I  noticed  that  people  could  n't  help  looking  at  me 
rather  hard ;  and  considering  my  clothes  and  theirs 
I  did  n't  wonder  ;  but  whenever  they  caught  my  eye 
they  made  me  a  very  friendly  sign  of  greeting. 

We  walked  straight  into  the  forecourt  of  the 
Museum,  where,  except  that  the  railings  were  gone, 
and  the  whispering  boughs  of  the  trees  were  all 
about,  nothing  seemed  changed ;  the  very  pigeons 
were  wheeling  about  the  building  and  clinging  to 
the  ornaments  of  the  pediment  as  I  had  seen  them 
of  old. 

Dick  seemed  grown  a  little  absent,  but  he  could 
not  forbear  giving  me  an  architectural  note,  and 
said,  — 

"  It  is  rather  an  ugly  old  building,  is  n't  it  ? 
Many  people  have  wanted  to  pull  it  down  and  re- 
build it ;  and  perhaps  if  work  does  really  get  scarce 
we  may  yet  do  so.  But,  as  my  great-grandfather 
will  tell  you,  it  would  not  be  quite  a  straightfor- 
ward job;  for  there  are  wonderful  collections  in 
there  of  all  kinds  of  antiquities,  besides  an  enor- 
mous library  with  many  exceedingly  beautiful  books 
in  it,  and  many  most  useful  ones  as  genuine  records 


72  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

of  texts  ;  and  the  worry  and  anxiety,  and  even  risk 
there  would  be  in  moving  all  this  has  saved  the 
buildings  themselves.  Besides,  as  we  said  before, 
it  is  not  a  bad  thing  to  have  some  record  of  what 
our  forefathers  thought  a  handsome  building.  For 
there  is  plenty  of  labor  and  material  in  it." 

"  I  see  there  is,"  said  I,  "  and  I  quite  agree  with 
you.  But  now  had  n't  we  better  make  haste  to  see 
your  great-grandfather  ?  " 

In  fact,  I  could  not  help  seeing  that  he  was  rather 
dallying  with  the  time.  He  said,  "  Yes,  we  will  go 
into  the  house  in  a  minute.  My  kinsman  is  too  old 
to  do  much  work  in  the  Museum,  where  he  was  a 
custodian  of  the  books  for  many  years ;  but  he  still 
lives  here  a  good  deal;  indeed  I  think,"  said  he, 
smiling,  "  that  he  looks  upon  himself  as  a  part  of 
the  books,  or  the  books  a  part  of  him,  I  don't  know 
which." 

He  hesitated  a  little  longer,  then  flushing  up, 
took  my  hand,  and  saying  "  Come  along,  then  !  " 
led  me  toward  the  door  of  one  of  the  old  official 
dwellings. 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  73 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CONCERNING   LOVE. 

"  "\70UR,  kinsman  does  n't  much  care  for  beauti- 
■*■  ful  building,  then,"  said  I,  as  we  entered 
the  rather  dreary  classical  house ;  which  indeed 
was  as  bare  as  need  be,  except  for  some  big  pots 
of  the  June  flowers  which  stood  about  here  and 
there,  —  though  it  was  very  clean  and  nicely 
whitewashed. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Dick,  rather  absently. 
"  He  is  getting  old,  certainly,  for  he  is  over  a  hun- 
dred and  five,  and  no  doubt  he  does  n't  care  about 
moving.  But  of  course  he  could  live  in  a  prettier 
house  if  he  liked ;  he  is  not  obliged  to  live  in  one 
place  any  more  than  any  one  else.  This  way, 
guest." 

And  he  led  the  way  upstairs,  and  opening  a  door 
we  went  into  a  fair-sized  room  of  the  old  type,  as 
plain  as  the  rest  of  the  house,  with  a  few  necessary 
pieces  of  furniture,  and  those  very  simple  and  even 
rude,  but  solid  and  with  a  good  deal  of  carving 
about  them,  well  designed  but  rather  crudely  exe- 
cuted. At  the  furthest  corner  of  the  room,  at  a 
desk  near  the  window,  sat  a  little  old  man  in 
a  roomy  oak  chair,  well  becushioned.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  sort  of  Norfolk  jacket  of  blue  serge 
worn  threadbare,  with  breeches  of  the  same,  and 
gray  worsted  stockings.     He  jumped  up  from  his 


74  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

chair,  and  cried  out  in  a  voice  of  considerable 
volume  for  such  an  old  man:  "Welcome,  Dick, 
my  lad  ;  Clara  is  here,  and  will  be  more  than  glad 
to  see  you ;  so  keep  your  heart  up  ! " 

"  Clara  here  ?  "  quoth  Dick ;  "  if  I  had  known, 
I  would  not  have  brought —  At  least,  I  mean  I 
would  —  " 

He  was  stuttering  and  confused,  clearly  because 
he  was  anxious  to  say  nothing  to  make  me  feel  one 
too  many.  But  the  old  man,  who  had  not  seen  me 
at  first,  helped  him  out  by  coming  forward  and 
saying  to  me  in  a  kind  tone,  — 

"  Pray  pardon  me,  for  I  did  not  notice  that  Dick, 
who  is  big  enough  to  hide  anybody,  you  know,  had 
brought  a  friend  with  him.  A  most  hearty  wel- 
come to  you !  All  the  more,  as  I  almost  hope  that 
you  are  going  to  amuse  an  old  man  by  giving  him 
news  from  over  sea,  for  I  can  see  that  you  are  come 
from  over  the  water  and  far-off  countries." 

He  looked  at  me  thoughtfully,  almost  anxiously, 
as  he  said  in  a  changed  voice,  "  Might  I  ask  you 
where  you  come  from,  as  you  are  so  clearly  a 
stranger  ?  " 

I  said  in  an  absent  way  :  "  I  used  to  live  in  Eng- 
land, and  now  I  am  come  back  again ;  and  I  slept 
last  night  at  the  Hammersmith  Guest  House." 

He  bowed  gravely,  but  seemed,  I  thought,  a  little 
disappointed  with  my  answer.  As  for  me,  I  was 
now  looking  at  him  harder  than  good  manners  al- 
lowed of,  perhaps ;  for  in  truth  his  face,  dried- 
apple-like  as  it  was,  seemed  strangely  familiar  to 
me,  as  if  I  had  seen  it  before,  —  in  a  looking-glass 
it  might  be,  said  I  to  myself. 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  wherever  you  come 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   EEST.  75 

from,  you  are  come  among  friends.  And  I  see  my 
kinsman  Richard  Hammond  has  an  air  about  him 
as  if  he  had  brought  you  here  for  me  to  do  some- 
thing for  you.     Is  that  so,  Dick  ?  " 

Dick,  who  was  getting  still  more  absent-minded 
and  kept  looking  uneasily  at  the  door,  managed  to 
say,  "Well,  yes,  kinsman;  our  guest  finds  things 
much  altered,  and  cannot  understand  it;  nor  can 
I ;  so  I  thought  I  would  bring  him  to  you,  since 
you  know  more  of  all  that  has  happened  within 
the  last  two  hundred  years  than  anybody  else  does. 
What 's  that  ?  " 

And  he  turned  toward  the  door  again.  We  heard 
footsteps  outside ;  the  door  opened,  and  in  came  a 
very  beautiful  young  woman,  who  stopped  short  on 
seeing  Dick,  and  flushed  as  red  as  a  rose,  but  faced 
him  nevertheless.  Dick  looked  at  her  hard,  and 
half  reached  out  his  hand  toward  her,  and  his 
whole  face  quivered  with  emotion. 

The  old  man  did  not  leave  them  long  in  this  shy 
discomfort,  but  said,  smiling  with  an  old  man's 
mirth :  "  Dick,  my  lad,  and  you,  my  dear  Clara,  I 
rather  think  that  we  two  oldsters  are  in  your  way  ; 
for  I  think  you  will  have  plenty  to  say  to  each 
other.  You  had  better  go  into  Nelson's  room  up 
above ;  I  knoAv  he  has  gone  out ;  and  he  has  just 
been  covering  the  walls  all  over  with  mediaeval 
books,  so  it  will  be  pretty  enough  even  for  you  two 
and  your  renewed  pleasure." 

The  girl  reached  out  her  hand  to  Dick,  and  tak- 
ing his  led  him  out  of  the  room,  looking  straight 
before  her ;  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  her  blushes 
came  from  happiness,  not  anger  ;  as  indeed,  love  is 
far  more  self-conscious  than  wrath. 


76  NEWS    FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

When  the  door  had.  shut  on  them  the  old  man 
turned  to  me,  still  smiling,  and  said, — 

"  Frankly,  my  dear  guest,  you  will  do  me  a  great 
service  if  you  are  come  to  set  my  old  tongue  wag- 
ging. My  love  of  talk  still  abides  with  me,  or 
rather  grows  on  me ;  and  though  it  is  pleasant 
enough  to  see  these  youngsters  moving  about  and 
playing  together  so  seriously,  as  if  the  whole  world 
depended  on  their  kisses  (as  indeed  it  does  some- 
what), yet  I  don't  think  my  tales  of  the  past  in- 
/  terest  them  much.  The  last  harvest,  the  last  baby, 
the  last  knot  of  carving  in  the  market-place  is 
history  enough  for  them.  It  was  different,  I  think, 
when  I  was  a  lad,  when  we  were  not  so  assured 
of  peace  and  continuous  plenty  as  we  are  now. 
Well,  well,  without  putting  you  to  the  question, 
let  me  ask  you  this :  Am  I  to  consider  you  as  an 
inquirer  who  knows  a  little  of  our  modern  ways  of 
life,  or  as  one  who  comes  from  some  place  where 
the  very  foundations  of  life  are  different  from  ours, 
—  do  you  know  anything  or  nothing  about  us  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  keenly  and  with  growing  wonder 
in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke ;  and  I  answered  in  a  low 
voice,  — 

"  I  know  only  so  much  of  your  modern  life  as  I 
could  gather  from  using  my  eyes  on  the  way  here 
from  Hammersmith,  and  from  asking  some  ques- 
tions of  Kichard  Hammond,  most  of  which  he  could 
hardly  understand." 

The  old  man  smiled  at  this.  "  Then,"  said  he, 
"  I  am  to  speak  to  you  as  — " 

"  As  if  I  were  a  being  from  another  planet," 
said  I. 

The  old  man,  whose  name,  by  the  by,  like  his 


OR,   AN    EPOCH    OF   REST.  77 

kinsman's,  was  Hammond,  smiled  and  nodded,  and 
wheeling  his  seat  round  to  me,  bade  me  sit  in  a 
heavy  oak  chair,  and  said,  as  he  saw  my  eyes  fix 
on  its  curious  carving,  — 

"  Yes,  I  am  much  tied  to  the  past,  my  past,  you 
understand.  These  very  pieces  of  furniture  belong 
to  a  time  before  my  early  days  ;  it  was  my  father 
who  got  them  made.  If  they  had  been  clone  within 
the  last  fifty  years  they  would  have  been  much 
cleverer  in  execution ;  but  I  don't  think  I  should 
have  liked  them  the  better.  We  were  almost  be- 
ginning again  in  those  days ;  and  they  were  brisk, 
hot-headed  times.  But  you  hear  how  garrulous  I 
am ;  ask  me  questions,  ask  me  questions  about  any- 
thing, dear  guest ;  since  I  must  talk,  make  my  talk 
profitable  to  you." 

I  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  then  I  said,  some- 
what nervously  :  "  Excuse  me  if  I  am  rude  ;  but  I 
am  so  much  interested  in  Richard,  since  he  has 
been  so  kind  to  me  a  perfect  stranger,  that  I 
should  like  to  ask  a  question  about  him." 

"Well,"  said  old  Hammond,  "if  he  were  not 
'  kind,'  as  you  call  it,  to  a  perfect  stranger  he  would 
be  thought  a  strange  person,  and  people  would  be 
apt  to  shun  him.  But  ask  on,  ask  on  !  don't  be 
shy  of  asking." 

Said  I :  "  That  beautiful  girl,  is  he  going  to  be 
married  to  her  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  he,  "yes,  he  is.  He  has  been  mar- 
ried to  her  once  already,  and  now  I  should  say  it  is 
pretty  clear  that  he  will  be  married  to  her  again." 

"  Indeed  ! "  quoth  I,  wondering  what  that  meant. 

"  Here  is  the  whole  tale,"  said  old  Hammond,  — 
"  a  short  one  enough ;  and  now   I  hope  a  happy 


78  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

one :  they  lived  together  two  years  the  first  time ; 
and  then  she  got  it  into  her  head  that  she  was  in 
love  with  somebody  else.  So  she  left  poor  Dick. 
But  it  did  not  last  long,  only  about  a  year.  Then 
she  came  to  me,  as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  bringing 
her  troubles  to  the  old  carle,  and  asked  me  how 
Dick  was,  and  whether  he  was  happy,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it.  So  I  saw  where  the  land  lay,  and  said 
that  he  was  very  unhappy  and  not  at  all  well ; 
which  last  at  any  rate  was  a  lie.  There,  you  can 
guess  the  rest.  Clara  came  to  have  a  long  talk 
with  me  to-day,  but  Dick  will  serve  her  turn  much 
better.  Indeed,  if  he  had  n't  chanced  in  upon  me 
to-day  I  should  have  had  to  have  sent  for  him 
to-morrow." 

"Dear  me!"  said  I.    "Have  they  any  children?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  two  ;  they  are  staying  with  one 
of  my  daughters  at  present,  where,  indeed,  Clara 
has  mostly  been.  I  would  n't  lose  sight  of  her,  as 
I  felt  sure  they  would  come  together  again  ;  and 
Dick,  who  is  the  best  of  good  fellows,  really  took 
the  matter  to  heart.  You  see,  he  had  no  other 
love  to  run  to,  as  she  had.  So  I  managed  it  all ; 
as  I  have  done  with  such-like  matters  before." 

"Ah,"  said  I,  "no  doubt  you  wanted  to  keep 
them  out  of  the  Divorce  Court ;  but  I  suppose  it 
often  has  to  settle  such  matters  ? " 

"  Then  you  suppose  nonsense,"  said  he.  "  I 
know  that  there  used  to  be  such  lunatic  affairs  as 
divorce  courts ;  but  just  consider,  all  the  cases  that 
came  into  them  were  matters  of  property  quarrels ; 
and  I  think,  dear  guest,"  said  he,  smiling,  "that 
though  you  do  come  from  another  planet,  you  can 
see  from  the  mere  outside  look  of  our  world  that 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  79 

quarrels  about  private  property  could  not  go  on 
among  us  in  our  days."  j 

Indeed,  my  drive  from  Hammersmith  to  Blooms- 
bury,  and  all  the  quiet,  happy  life  I  had  seen  so 
many  hints  of,  even  apart  from  my  shopping,  would 
have  been  enough  to  tell  me  that  "  the  sacred 
rights  of  property,"  as  we  used  to  think  of  them, 
were  now  no  more.  So  I  sat  silent  while  the  old 
man  took  up  the  thread  of  the  discourse  again,  and 
said,  — 

"  Well,  then,  property  quarrels  being  no  longer 
possible,  what  remains  in  these  matters  that  a 
court  of  law  could  deal  with  ?  Fancy  a  court  for 
enforcing  a  contract  of  passion  or  sentiment !  If 
such  a  thing  were  needed  as  a  reductio  ad  absurdum 
of  the  enforcement  of  contract,  such  a  folly  would 
do  that  for  us." 

He  was  silent  again  a  little,  and  then  said: 
"You  must  understand  once  for  all  that  we  have 
changed  these  matters ;  or  rather,  that  our  way  of 
looking  at  them  has  changed  as  we  have  changed 
within  the  last  two  hundred  years.  We  do  not 
deceive  ourselves,  indeed,  or  believe  that  we  can 
get  rid  of  all  the  trouble  that  besets  the  dealings 
between  the  sexes.  We  know  that  we  must  face 
the  unhappiness  that  comes  of  man  and  woman 
confusing  the  relations  between  natural  passion 
and  sentiment,  and  the  friendship  which,  when 
things  go  well,  softens  the  awakening  from  passing 
illusions ;  but  we  are  not .  so  mad  as  to  pile  up 
degradation  on  that  unhappiness  by  engaging  in 
sordid  squabbles  about  livelihood  and  position,  and 
the  power  of  tyrannizing  over  the  children  who 
have  been  the  results  of  love  or  lust." 


80  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

Again  he  paused  awhile,  and  again  went  on : 
"Calf  love,  mistaken  for  a  heroism  that  shall  be 
life-long,  yet  early  waning  into  disappointment; 
the  inexplicable  desire  that  comes  on  a  man  of 
riper  years  to  be  the  all-in-all  to  some  one  woman, 
whose  ordinary  human  kindness  and  human  beauty 
he  has  idealized  into  superhuman  perfection,  and 
made  the  one  object  of  his  desire ;  or  lastly,  the 
reasonable  longing  of  a  strong  and  thoughtful  man 
to  become  the  most  intimate  friend  of  some  beauti- 
ful and  wise  woman,  the  very  type  of  the  beauty 
and  glory  of  the  world  which  we  love  so  well,  — 
as  we  exult  in  all  the  pleasure  and  exaltation  of 
spirit  which  goes  with  all  this,  so  we  set  ourselves 
to  bear  the  sorrow  which  not  unseldom  goes  with 
it  also ;  remembering  those  lines  of  the  ancient 
poet  (I  quote  roughly  from  memory  of  one  of  the 
many  translations  of  the  nineteenth  century)  : 

'  For  this  the  Gods  have  fashioned  man's  grief  and  evil  day 
That  still  for  man  hereafter  might  be  the  tale  and  the  lay.' 

Well,  well,  't  is  little  likely  anyhow  that  all  tales 
shall  be  lacking  or  all  sorrow  cured." 

He  was  silent  for  some  time,  and  I  would  not 
interrupt  him.  At  last  he  began  again  :  "  But  you 
must  know  that  we  of  these  generations  are  strong 
and  healthy  of  body,  and  live  easily ;  we  pass  our 
lives  in  reasonable  strife  with  nature,  exercising 
not  one  side  of  ourselves  only,  but  all  sides,  taking 
the  keenest  pleasure  in  all  the  life  of  the  world. 
So  it  is  a  point  of  honor  with  us  not  to  be  self- 
centred,  —  not  to  suppose  that  the  world  must  cease 
because  one  man  is  sorry ;  therefore  we  should 
think  it  foolish,  or  if  you  will,  criminal,  to  exag- 


OK,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  81 

gerate  these  matters  of  sentiment  and  sensibility  ; 
we  are  no  more  inclined  to  eke  out  our  sentimental 
sorrows  than  to  cherish  our  bodily  pains ;  and  we 
recognize  that  there  are  other  pleasures  besides 
love-making.  You  must  remember,  also,  that  we 
are  long-lived,  and  that  therefore  beauty  both  in 
man  and  woman  is  not  so  fleeting  as  it  was  in  the 
days  when  we  were  burdened  so  heavily  by  self- 
inflicted  diseases.  So  we  shake  off  these  griefs  in 
a  way  which  perhaps  the  sentimentalists  of  other 
times  would  think  contemptible  and  un  heroic,  but 
which  we  think  necessary  and  manlike.  As  on  the 
one  hand,  therefore,  we  have  ceased  to  be  commer- 
cial in  our  love-matters,  so  also  we  have  ceased  to 
be  artificially  foolish.  The  folly  which  comes  by 
nature,  the  unwisdom  of  the  immature  man,  or  the 
older  man  caught  in  a  trap,  we  must  put  up  with 
that,  nor  are  we  much  ashamed  of  it ;  but  to  be 
conventionally  sensitive  or  sentimental  —  my  friend, 
I  am  old  and  perhaps  disappointed,  but  at  least  I 
think  we  have  cast  off  some  of  the  follies  of  the 
older  world." 

He  paused,  as  if  for  some  words  of  mine ;  but  I 
held  my  peace.  Then  he  went  on  :  "  At  least,  if  we 
suffer  from  the  tyranny  and  fickleness  of  nature  or 
our  own  want  of  experience,  we  neither  grimace 
about  it  nor  lie.  If  there  must  be  sundering  be- 
twixt those  who  meant  never  to  sunder,  so  it  must 
be ;  but  there  need  be  no  pretence  of  unity  when 
the  reality  of  it  is  gone.  Nor  do  we  drive  those 
who  well  know  that  they  are  incapable  of  it  to 
profess  an  undying  sentiment  which  they  cannot 
really  feel ;  thus,  as  that  monstrosity  of  venal 
lust  is  no  longer  possible,  so  also  it  is  no  longer 

6 


82  NEWS  FROM   NOWHERE; 

needed.  Don't  misunderstand  me.  You  did  not 
seem  shocked  when  I  told  you  that  there  were  no 
law-courts  to  enforce  contracts  of  sentiment  or 
passion ;  but  so  curiously  are  men  made  that  per- 
haps you  will  be  shocked  when  I  tell  you  that 
there  is  no  code  of  public  opinion  which  takes 
the  place  of  such  courts,  and  which  might  be  as 
tyrannical  and  unreasonable  as  they  were.  I  do 
not  say  that  people  don't  judge  their  neighbors' 
conduct,  —  sometimes,  doubtless,  unfairly.  But  I 
do  say  that  there  is  no  unvarying  conventional  set 
of  rules  by  which  people  are  judged;  no  bed  of 
Procrustes  to  stretch  or  cramp  their  minds  and 
lives  ;  no  hypocritical  excommunication  which  peo- 
ple are  forced  to  pronounce,  either  by  unconsidered 
habit  or  by  the  unexpressed  threat  of  the  lesser 
interdict  if  they  are  lax  in  their  hypocrisy.  Are 
you  shocked  now  ?  " 

"  N-o  —  n-o,"  said  I,  with  some  hesitation.  "  It  is 
all  so  different." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  he,  "  one  thing  I  think  I  can 
answer  for :  whatever  sentiment  there  is,  it  is  real 
—  and  general;  it  is  not  confined  to  people  very 
specially  refined.  I  am  also  pretty  sure,  as  I  hinted 
to  you  just  now,  that  there  is  not  by  a  great  way  as 
much  suffering  involved  in  these  matters  either  to 
men  or  women  as  there  used  to  be.  But  excuse  me 
for  being  so  prolix  on  this  question.  You  know 
you  asked  to  be  treated  like  a  being  from  another 
planet." 

"  Indeed  I  thank  you  very  much,"  said  I.  "  Now 
may  I  ask  you  about  the  position  of  women  in  your 
society  ?  " 

He  laughed  very  heartily  for  a  man  of  his  years, 


OK,  AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  83 

and  said :  "  It  is  not  without  reason  that  I  have  got 
a  reputation  as  a  careful  student  of  history.  I  be- 
lieve I  really  do  understand  '  the  Emancipation  of 
"Women  movement '  of  the  nineteenth  century.  I 
doubt  if  any  other  man  now  alive  does." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  I,  a  little  bit  nettled  by  his  mer- 
riment. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  of  course  you  will  see  that  all 
that  is  a  dead  controversy  now.  The  men  have  no 
longer  any  opportunity  of  tyrannizing  over  the 
women,  or  the  women  over  the  men,  —  both  of 
which  things  took  place  in  those  old  times.  The 
women  do  what  they  can  do  best,  and  what  they 
like  best,  and  the  men  are  neither  jealous  of  it  nor 
injured  by  it.  This  is  such  a  commonplace  that  I 
am  almost  ashamed  to  state  it." 

I  said :  "  Oh !  —  and  legislation,  do  they  take  any 
part  in  that  ?  " 

Hammond  smiled,  and  said :  "  I  think  you  may 
wait  for  an  answer  to  that  question  till  we  get  on 
to  the  subject  of  legislation.  There  may  be  novel- 
ties to  you  in  that  subject  also." 

"  Very  well,"  I  said ;  "  but  about  this  woman  ques- 
tion ?  I  saw  at  the  Guest  House  that  the  women 
were  waiting  on  the  men ;  that  seems  a  little  like 
reaction,  does  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Does  it  ?  "  said  the  old  man ;  "  perhaps  you 
think  housekeeping  an  unimportant  occupation, 
not  deserving  of  respect.  I  believe  that  was  the 
opinion  of  the  '  advanced '  women  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  and  their  male  backers.  If  it  is 
yours,  I  recommend  to  your  notice  an  old  Norwe- 
gian folk-lore  tale  called  '  How  the  Man  minded  the 
House,'  or  some  such   title ;  the  result   of  which 


84  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

minding  was  that,  after  various  tribulations,  the 
man  and  the  family  cow  balanced  each  other  at 
the  end  of  a  rope,  the  man  hanging  halfway  np 
the  chimney,  the  cow  dangling  from  the  roof, 
which,  after  the  fashion  of  the  country,  was  of  turf 
and  sloping  down  low  to  the  ground.  Hard  on  the 
cow,  /  think.  Of  course,  no  such  mishap  could 
happen  to  such  a  superior  person  as  yourself,"  he 
added,  chuckling. 

I  sat  a  little  uneasy  under  this  dry  gibe.  Indeed, 
his  manner  of  treating  this  latter  part  of  the  ques- 
tion seemed  to  me  a  little  disrespectful. 

"  Come,  now,  my  friend,"  quoth  he,  "  don't  you 
know  that  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to  a  clever  woman 
to  manage  a  house  skilfully,  and  to  do  it  so  that  all 
the  house-mates  about  her  look  pleased,  and  are 
grateful  to  her  ?  And  then  you  know  everybody 
likes  to  be  ordered  about  by  a  pretty  woman ;  why, 
it  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  forms  of  flirtation.  You 
are  not  so  old  that  you  cannot  remember  that. 
Why,  I  remember  it  well." 

And  the  old  fellow  chuckled  again,  and  at  last 
fairly  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  he,  after  a  while  ;  "  I  am  not 
laughing  at  anything  you  could  be  thinking  of,  but 
at  that  silly  nineteenth-century  fashion,  current 
among  rich,  so-called  cultivated  people,  of  ignor- 
ing all  the  steps  by  which  their  daily  dinner  was 
reached,  as  matters  too  low  for  their  lofty  intelli- 
gence. Useless  idiots  !  Come,  now,  I  am  a  '  lit- 
erary man,'  as  we  queer  animals  used  to  be  called, 
yet  I  am  a  pretty  good  cook  myself." 

«  So  am  I,"  said  I. 

II  Well,  then,"  said  he,  "  I  really  think  you  can 


OR,   AN    EPOCH    OF   REST.  85 

understand  me  better  than  you  would  seem  to  do. 
judging  by  your  words  and  your  silence." 

Said  I :  "  Perhaps  that  is  so  ;  but  people  putting 
in  practice  commonly  this  sense  of  interest  in  the 
ordinary  occupations  of  life  rather  startles  me.  I 
will  ask  you  a  question  or  two  presently  about  that. 
But  I  want  to  return  to  the  position  of  women 
among  you.  You  have  studied  the  '  emancipation 
of  women '  business  of  the  nineteenth  century ; 
don't  you  remember  that  some  of  the  '  superior ' 
women  wanted  to  emancipate  their  sex  from  the 
bearing  of  children  ?  " 

The  old  man  grew  quite  serious  again.  Said  he  : 
"  I  do  remember  about  that  strange  piece  of  base- 
less folly,  the  result,  like  all  other  follies  of  the 
period,  of  the  hideous  class  tyranny  which  then 
obtained.  What  do  we  think  of  it  now  ?  you  would 
say.  My  friend,  that  is  a  question  easy  to  answer. 
How  could  it  possibly  be  but  that  maternity  should 
he  highly  honored  among  us  ?  Surely  it  is  a 
matter  of  course  that  the  natural  and  necessary 
pains  which  the  mother  must  go  through  form  a 
bond  of  union  between  man  and  woman,  an  extra 
stimulus  to  love  and  affection  between  them,  and 
that  this  is  universally  recognized.  For  the  rest, 
remember  that  all  the  artificial  burdens  of  mother- 
hood are  now  done  away  with.  A  mother  has  no 
longer  any  mere  sordid  anxieties  for  the  future  of 
her  children.  They  may  indeed  turn  out  better  or 
worse ;  they  may  disappoint  her  highest  hopes  ; 
such  anxieties  as  these  are  a  part  of  the  mingled 
pleasure  and  pain  which  go  to  make  up  the  life 
of  mankind.  But  at  least  she  is  spared  the  fear 
(it  was  most  commonly  the  certainty)  that  artificial 


86  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

disabilities  would  make  her  children  something 
less  than  men  and  women ;  she  knows  that  they 
will  live  and  act  according  to  the  measure  of  their 
own  faculties.  In  times  past,  it  is  clear  that  the 
'  Society '  of  the  day  helped  its  Judaic  god,  and  the 
'  Man  of  Science '  of  the  time,  in  visiting  the  sins 
of  the  fathers  upon  the  children.  How  to  reverse 
this  process,  how  to  take  the  sting  out  of  heredity, 
has  been  one  of  the  most  constant  cares  of  the 
thoughtful  men  among  us.  So  that,  you  see,  the 
ordinarily  healthy  woman  (and  almost  all  our 
women  are  both  healthy  and  at  least  comely),  re- 
spected as  a  child-bearer  and  rearer  of  children, 
desired  as  a  woman,  loved  as  a  companion,  un- 
anxious  for  the  future  of  her  children,  has  far 
more  instinct  for  maternity  than  the  poor  drudge 
and  mother  of  drudges  of  past  days  could  ever 
have  had ;  or  than  her  sister  of  the  upper  classes, 
brought  up  in  affected  ignorance  of  natural  facts, 
reared  in  an  atmosphere  of  mingled  prudery  and 
prurience." 

"  You  speak  warmly,"  I  said,  "  but  I  can  see  you 
are  right." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  and  I  will  point  out  to  you  a 
token  of  all  the  benefits  which  we  have  gained  by 
our  freedom.  What  did  you  think  of  the  looks  of 
the  people  whom  you  have  come  across  to-day  ?  " 

Said  I :  "  I  could  hardly  have  believed  that  there 
could  be  so  many  good-looking  people  in  any 
civilized  country." 

He  crowed  a  little,  like  the  old  bird  he  was. 
"  What !  are  we  still  civilized  ?  "  said  he.  "  Well, 
as  to  our  looks,  the  English  and  Jutish  blood, 
which  on  the  whole  is  predominant  here,  used  not 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  87 

to  produce  much  beauty.  But  I  think  we  have  im- 
proved it.  I  know  a  man  who  has  a  large  collec- 
tion of  portraits  printed  from  photographs  of  the 
nineteenth  century ;  and  going  over  those  and  com- 
paring them  with  the  everyday  faces  in  these 
times,  puts  the  improvement  in  our  good  looks 
beyond  a  doubt.  Now,  there  are  some  people  who 
think  it  not  too  fantastic  to  connect  this  increase 
of  beauty  directly  with  our  freedom  and  good  sense 
in  the  matters  we  have  been  speaking  of ;  they  be- 
lieve that  a  child  born  from  the  natural  and  healthy 
love  between  a  man  and  a  woman,  even  if  that  be 
transient,  is  likely  to  turn  out  better  in  all  ways, 
and  especially  in  bodily  beauty,  than  the  birth  of  the 
respectable  commercial  marriage  bed,  or  of  the  dull 
despair  of  the  drudge  of  that  system.  They  say, 
'  Pleasure  begets  pleasure.'  What  do  you  think  ?  " 
"  I  am  much  of  that  mind,"  said  I. 


NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 


CHAPTER  X. 

QUESTIONS    AND    ANSWERS. 

"  T  X  7ELL,"    said   the   old   man,  shifting   in  his 
V  V       chair,  "  you  must  get  on  with  your  ques- 
tions,  guest;   I  have   been   some  time  answering 
this  first  one." 

Said  I :  l(  I  want  an  extra  word  or  two  about 
your  ideas  of  education,  —  although  I  gathered  from 
Dick  that  you  let  your  children  run  wild  and  did  n't 
teach  them  anything,  and,  in  short,  that  your 
education  is  like  the  '  snakes  in  Iceland  '  —  non- 
existent." 

"  Then  you  gathered  left-handed,"  quoth  he. 
"  But  of  course  I  understand  your  point  of  view 
about  education,  which  is  that  of  times  past,  when 
'the  struggle  for  life/  as  men  used  to  phrase  it 
(i.  e.,  the  struggle  for  a  slave's  rations  on  one  side, 
and  for  a  bouncing  share  of  the  slaveholders'  privi- 
lege on  the  other),  pinched  'education'  for  most 
people  into  a  niggardly  dole  of  not  very  accurate 
information,  —  something  to  be  swallowed  by  the 
beginner  in  the  art  of  living  whether  he  liked 
it  or  not,  and  was  hungry  for  it  or  not ,  and  which 
had  been  chewed  and  digested  over  and  over 
again  by  people  who  did  n't  care  about  it  in  order 
to  serve  it  out  to  other  people  who  did  n't  care 
about  it." 


OK,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  89 

I  stopped  the  old  man's  rising  wrath  by  a  laugh, 
and  said:  "Well,  you  were  not  taught  that  way, 
at  any  rate,  so  you  may  let  your  anger  run  off  you  a 
little." 

"  True,  true,"  said  he,  smiling.  "  I  thank  you 
for  correcting  my  ill-temper ;  I  always  fancy  my- 
self as  living  in  any  period  of  which  we  may  be 
speaking.  But,  however,  to  put  it  in  a  cooler  way  : 
you  expected  to  see  children  thrust  into  schools 
when  they  have  reached  an  age  conventionally 
supposed  to  be  the  due  age,  whatever  their  varying 
faculties  and  dispositions  may  be,  and  when  there, 
with  like  disregard,  to  be  subjected  to  a  certain 
conventional  course  of  '  learning.'  My  friend,  can't 
you  see  that  such  a  proceeding  means  ignoring  the 
fact  of  growth,  bodily  and  mental  ?  No  one  could 
come  out  of  such  a  mill  uninjured ;  and  those  only 
would  avoid  being  crushed  by  it  who  would  have 
the  spirit  of  rebellion  strong  in  them.  Fortunately 
most  children  have  had  that  at  all  times.  Now 
you  see  what  it  all  comes  to.  In  the  old  times  all 
this  was  the  result  of  poverty.  In  the  nineteenth 
century,  society  was  so  miserably  poor,  owing  to 
the  systematized  robbery  on  which  it  was  founded, 
that  real  education  was  impossible  for  anybody. 
The  whole  theory  of  their  so-called  education  was 
that  it  was  necessary  to  shove  a  little  information 
into  a  child,  even  if  it  were  by  means  of  torture, 
and  accompanied  by  twaddle  which  it  was  well 
known  was  of  no  use,  or  else  he  would  lack  infor- 
mation lifelong  ;  the  hurry  of  poverty  forbade  any- 
thing else.  All  that  is  past ;  we  are  no  longer 
hurried,  and  the  information  lies  ready  to  each 
one's  hand  when  his  own  inclinations  impel  him 


90  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

to  seek  it.  In  this  as  in  other  matters  we  have 
become  wealthy;  we  can  afford  to  give  ourselves 
time  to  grow." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "but  suppose  the  child,  youth, 
man,  never  wants  the  information,  never  grows  in 
the  direction  you  might  hope  him  to  do ;  suppose, 
for  instance,  he  objects  to  learning  arithmetic  or 
mathematics ;  you  can't  force  him  when  he  is 
grown;  can't  you  force  him  while  he  is  growing, 
and  ought  n't  you  to  do  so  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  he,  "were  you  forced  to  learn 
arithmetic  and  mathematics  ?  " 


And  how  old  are  you  now  ?  " 


"  A  little,"  said  I. 

"  And  how  old  are 

"  Say  fifty-six,"  said  I. 
«.  *"  "  And   how   much   arithmetic   and  mathematics 

do  you  know  now  ? "  quoth  the  old  man,  smiling 
rather  mockingly. 

Said  I :  "  None  whatever,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

Hammond  laughed  quietly,  but  made  no  other 
comment  on  my  admission,  and  I  dropped  the  sub- 
ject of  education,  perceiving  him  to  be  hopeless 
on  that  side. 

I  thought  a  little,  and  said  :  "  You  were  speak- 
ing just  now  of  households ;  that  sounded  to  me 
a  little  like  the  customs  of  past  times.  I  should 
have  thought  you  would  have  lived  more  in  public." 

"  Phalansteries,  eh  ? "  said  he.  "  Well,  we 
live  as  we  like,  and  we  like  to  live  as  a  rule  with 
certain  house-mates  that  we  have  got  used  to. 
Remember,  again,  that  poverty  is  extinct,  and  that 
the  Fourierist  phalansteries  and  all  their  kind, 
;  as  was  but  natural  at  the  time,  implied  nothing 
but  a  refuge  from  mere  destitution.     Such  a  way 


OR,  AN   EPOCH    OF   REST.  91 

of  life  as  that  could  only  have  been  conceived  of 
by  people  surrounded  by  the  worst  form  of  poverty. 
But  you  must  understand  therewith,  that  though 
separate  households  are  the  rule  among  us,  and 
though  they  differ  in  their  habits  more  or  less,  yet 
no  door  is  shut  to  any  good-tempered  person  who 
is  content  to  live  as  the  other  house-mates  do ;  only 
of  course  it  would  be  unreasonable  for  one  man  to 
drop  into  a  household  and  bid  the  folk  of  it  to 
alter  their  habits  to  please  him,  since  he  can  go 
elsewhere  and  live  as  he  pleases.  However,  I 
need  not  say  much  about  all  this,  as  you  are  going 
up  the  river  with  Dick,  and  will  find  out  for  your- 
self by  experience  how  these  matters  are  managed." 

After  a  pause,  I  said :  "  Your  big  towns,  now ; 
how  about  them  ?  London,  which  —  which  I  have 
read  about  as  the  modern  Babylon  of  civilization, 
seems  to  have  disappeared." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  old  Hammond,  "  perhaps  after 
all  it  is  more  like  ancient  Babylon  now  than  the 
'  modern  Babylon '  of  the  nineteenth  century  was. 
But  let  that  pass.  After  all,  there  is  a  good  deal 
of  population  in  places  between  here  and  Hammer- 
smith ;  nor  have  you  seen  the  most  populous  part 
of  the  town  yet." 

"  Tell  me,  then,"  said  I,  "  how  is  it  towards  the 
east  ?  " 

Said  he :  "  Time  was  when  if  you  mounted  a 
good  horse  and  rode  straight  away  from  my  door 
here  at  a  round  trot  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  you 
would  still  be  in  the  thick  of  London,  and  the 
greater  part  of  that  would  be  '  slums/  as  they  were 
called ;  that  is  to  say,  places  of  torture  for  inno- 
cent men  and  women ;  or  worse,  stews  for  rearing 


92  NEWS    FROM    NOWHERE; 

and  breeding  men  and  women  in  such  degradation 
that  that  torture  should  seem  to  them  mere  ordi- 
nary and  natural  life." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"'  I  said,  rather  impatiently. 
"  That  was  what  was  ;  tell  me  something  of  what 
is.     Is  any  of  that  left  ?  " 

"  Not  an  inch,"  said  he  ;  "  but  some  memory  of 
it  abides  with  us,  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  Once  a 
year,  on  May-day,  we  hold  a  solemn  feast  in  those 
easterly  communes  of  London  to  commemorate  The 
Clearing  of  Misery,  as  it  is  called.  On  that  day 
we  have  music  and  dancing,  and  merry  games  and 
happy  feasting  on  the  site  of  some  of  the  worst  of 
the  old  slums,  the  traditional  memory  of  which  we 
have  kept.  On  that  occasion  the  custom  is  for  the 
prettiest  girls  to  sing  some  of  the  old  revolutionary 
songs,  and  those  which  were  the  groans  of  the  dis- 
content, once  so  hopeless,  on  the  very  spots  where 
those  terrible  crimes  of  class-murder  were  commit- 
ted day  by  day  for  so  many  years.  To  a  man  like 
me,  who  have  studied  the  past  so  diligently,  it  is 
a  curious  and  touching  sight  to  see  some  beautiful 
girl,  daintily  clad,  and  crowned  with  flowers  from 
the  neighboring  meadows,  standing  among  the 
happy  people,  on  some  mound  where  of  old  time 
stood  the  wretched  apology  for  a  house,  —  a  den 
in  which  men  and  women  lived  packed  among  the 
filth  like  pilchards  in  a  cask  ;  lived  in  such  a  way 
that  they  could  only  have  endured  it,  as  I  said 
just  now,  by  being  degraded  out  of  humanity,  — to 
hear  the  terrible  words  of  threatening  and  lamen- 
tation coming  from  her  sweet  and  beautiful  lips, 
and  she  unconscious  of  their  real  meaning ;  to  hear 
her,  say,  singing  Hood's  '  Song  of  the  Shirt.'  and  to 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  93 

think  that  all  the  time  she  does  not  understand 
what  it  is  all  about  —  a  tragedy  grown  inconceiv- 
able to  her  and  her  listeners.  Think  of  that  if 
you  can,  and  of  how  glorious  life  is  grown  ! " 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  "  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  think 
of  it." 

And  I  sat  watching  how  his  eyes  glittered,  and 
how  the  fresh  life  seemed  to  glow  in  his  face,  and 
I  wondered  how  at  his  age  he  should  think  of  the 
happiness  of  the  world,  or  indeed  anything  but  his 
coming  dinner. 

"Tell  me  in  detail,"  said  I,  "what  lies  east  of 
Bloomsbury  now  ?  " 

Said  he :  "  There  are  but  few  houses  between 
this  and  the  outer  part  of  the  old  city ;  but  in  the 
city  we  have  a  thickly  dwelling  population.  Our 
forefathers,  in  the  first  clearing  of  the  slums, 
were  not  in  a  hurry  to  pull  down  the  houses  in 
what  was  called  at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth 
century  the  business  quarter  of  the  town,  and 
what  later  got  to  be  known  as  the  Swindling 
Kens.  You  see,  these  houses,  though  they  stood 
hideously  thick  on  the  ground,  were  roomy,  and 
fairly  solid  in  building,  and  clean,  because  they 
were  not  used  for  living  in,  but  as  mere  gam- 
bling booths ;  so  the  poor  people  from  the  cleared 
slums  took  them  for  lodgings  and  dwelt  there, 
till  the  folk  of  those  days  had  time  to  think  of 
something  better  for  them.  So  the  buildings  were 
pulled  down  so  gradually  that  people  got  used  to 
living  thicker  on  the  ground  than  in  most  places ; 
therefore  it  remains  the  most  populous  part  of 
London,  or  perhaps  of  all  these  islands.  But  it  is 
very  pleasant  there,  partly  because  of  the  splendor 


94  NEWS   FROM    NOWHERE  ; 

of  the  architecture,  which  goes  further  than  what 
you  will  see  elsewhere.  However,  this  crowding, 
if  it  may  be  called  so,  does  not  go  further  than  a 
street  called  Aldgate,  a  name  which  perhaps  you 
may  have  heard  of.  Beyond  that  the  houses  are 
scattered  wide  about  the  meadows  there,  which 
are  very  beautiful,  especially  when  you  get  on  to 
the  lovely  river  Lea  (where  old  Izaak  Walton 
used  to  fish,  you  know)  about  the  places  called 
Stratford  and  Old  Ford,  names  which  of  course 
you  will  not  have  heard  of,  though  the  Eomans 
were  busy  there  once  upon  a  time." 

Not  heard  of  them  !  thought  I  to  myself.  How 
strange  ! — that  I  who  had  seen  the  very  last  rem- 
nant of  the  pleasantness  of  the  meadows  by  the 
Lea  destroyed,  should  have  heard  them  spoken 
of  with  pleasantness  come  back  to  them  in  full 
measure. 

Hammond  went  on :  "  When  you  get  down  to 
the  Thames-side  you  come  on  the  Docks,  which 
are  works  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  are  still 
in  use,  although  not  so  thronged  as  they  once  were, 
since  we  discourage  centralization  all  we  can,  and 
we  have  long  ago  dropped  one  pretension  to  be 
the  market  of  the  world.  About  these  Docks  are  a 
good  few  houses,  which,  however,  are  not  inhabited 
by  many  people  permanently ;  I  mean,  those  who 
use  them  come  and  go  a  good  deal,  the  place  being 
too  low  and  marshy  for  pleasant  dwelling.  Past 
the  Docks  eastward  and  landward  it  is  all  flat 
pasture,  once  marsh,  except  for  a  few  gardens,  and 
there  are  very  few  permanent  dwellings  there ; 
scarcely  anything  but  a  few  sheds,  and  cots  for 
the  men  who  come  to  look  after  the  great  herds 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  95 

of  cattle  pasturing  there.  But,  however,  what  with 
the  beasts  and  the  men,  and  the  scattered  red-tiled 
roofs  and  the  big  hayricks,  it  does  not  make  a  bad 
holiday  to  get  a  quiet  pony  and  ride  about  there 
on  a  sunny  afternoon  of  autumn,  and  look  over 
the  river  and  the  craft  passing  up  and  down,  and 
on  Shooters'  Hill  and  the  Kentish  uplands,  and 
then  turn  round  to  the  wide  green  sea  of  the 
Essex  marsh-land,  with  the  great  domed  line  of 
the  sky,  and  the  sun  shining  down  in  one  flood 
of  peaceful  light  over  the  long  distance.  There 
is  a  place  called  Canning's  Town,  and  further  out, 
Silvertown,  where  the  pleasant  meadows  are  at 
their  pleasantest;  doubtless  they  were  once  slums, 
and  wretched  enough." 

The  names  grated  on  my  ear,  but  I  could  not 
explain  why  to  him.  So  I  said :  "  And  south  of 
the  river,  what  is  it  like  ?  " 

He  said :  "  You  would  find  it  much  the  same  as 
the  land  about  Hammersmith.  North,  again,  the 
land  runs  up  high,  and  there  is  an  agreeable  and 
well-built  town  called  Hampstead,  which  fitly  ends 
London  on  that  side.  It  looks  down  on  the  north- 
western end  of  the  forest  you  passed  through." 

I  smiled.  "  So  much  for  what  was  once  London," 
said  I.  "  Now  tell  me  about  the  other  towns  of  the 
country." 

He  said :  "  As  to  the  big  murky  places  which 
were  once,  as  we  know,  the  centres  of  manufac- 
ture, they  have,  like  the  brick  and  mortar  desert  of 
London,  disappeared ;  only,  since  they  were  centres 
of  nothing  but  '  manufacture,'  and  served  no  pur- 
pose but  that  of  the  gambling  market,  they  have 
left  less  signs  of  their  existence  than  London.     Of 


96  NEWS  from  nowhere; 

course,  the  great  change  in  the  use  of  mechanical 
force  made  this  an  easy  matter,  and  some  approach 
to  their  break-up  as  centres  would  probably  have 
taken  place  even  if  we  had  not  changed  our  habits 
so  much ;  but  they  being  such  as  they  are,  no  sac- 
rifice would  have  seemed  too  great  a  price  to  pay 
for  getting  rid  of  the  '  manufacturing  districts,'  as 
they  used  to  be  called.  For  the  rest,  whatever  coal 
or  mineral  we  need  is  brought  to  grass  and  sent 
whither  it  is  needed  with  as  little  as  possible 
of  dirt,  confusion,  and  the  distressing  of  quiet 
people's  lives.  One  is  tempted  to  believe  from 
what  one  has  read  of  the  condition  of  those  dis- 
tricts in  the  nineteenth  century,  that  those  who 
had  them  under  their  power  worried,  befouled, 
and  degraded  men  out  of  malice  prepense.  But  it 
was  not  so ;  like  the  mis-education  of  which  we 
were  talking  just  now,  it  came  of  their  dreadful 
poverty.  They  were  obliged  to  put  up  with  every- 
thing, and  even  pretend  that  they  liked  it ;  where- 
as we  can  deal  with  things  reasonably,  and  refuse 
to  be  saddled  with  what  we  do  not  want." 

I  confess  I  was  not  sorry  to  cut  short  with  a 
question  his  glorifications  of  the  age  he  lived  in. 
Said  I :  "  How  about  the  smaller  towns  ?  I  sup- 
pose you  have  swept  those  away  entirely  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  he,  "  it  has  n't  gone  that  way. 
On  the  contrary,  there  has  been  but  little  clear- 
ance, though  much  rebuilding,  in  the  smaller  towns. 
Their  suburbs,  indeed,  when  they  had  any,  have 
melted  away  into  the  general  country,  and  space 
and  elbow-room  has  been  got  in  their  centres ;  but 
there  are  the  towns  still  with  their  streets  and 
squares  and  market-places ;  so  that  it  is  by  means 


OR,   AN   ErOCH   OF  REST.  97 

of  these  smaller  towns  that  we  of  to-day  can  get 
some  kind  of  idea  of  what  the  towns  of  the  older 
world  were  like,  —  I  mean  to  say,  at  their  best." 

"  Take  Oxford,  for  instance,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I  suppose  Oxford  was  beautiful 
even  in  the  nineteenth  century.  At  present  it  has 
the  great  interest  of  still  preserving  a  great  mass 
of  pre-commercial  building,  and  is  a  very  beautiful 
place ;  yet  there  are  many  towns  which  have  be- 
come scarcely  less  beautiful." 

Said  I :  "In  passing,  may  I  ask  if  it  is  still  a 
place  of  learning  ?  " 

"Still?"  said  he,  smiling.  "Well,  it  has  re- 
verted to  some  of  its  best  traditions ;  so  you  may 
imagine  how  far  it  is  from  its  nineteenth-century 
position.  It  is  real  learning,  knowledge  cultivated 
for  its  own  sake, — the  Art  of  Knowledge,  in  short, 
—  which  is  followed  there,  not  the  Commercial 
learning  of  the  past;  though  perhaps  you  do  not 
know  that  in  the  nineteenth  century  Oxford  and  its 
less  interesting  sister  Cambridge  became  definitely 
commercial.  They  (and  especially  Oxford)  were 
the  breeding-places  of  a  peculiar  class  of  para- 
sites, who  called  themselves  cultivated  people ; 
they  were  indeed  cynical  enough,  as  the  so-called 
educated  classes  of  the  day  generally  were ;  but 
they  affected  an  exaggeration  of  cynicism  in  order 
that  they  might  be  thought  knowing  and  worldly- 
wise.  The  rich  middle  classes  (they  had  no  rela- 
tion with  the  working-classes)  treated  them  with 
the  kind  of  contemptuous  toleration  with  which  a 
mediaeval  baron  treated  his  jester  ;  though  it  must 
be  said  that  they  were  by  no  means  so  pleasant 
as  the  old  jesters  were,  being  in  fact,  the  bores 
7 


98  NEWS    FROM    NOWHERE  | 

of  society.  They  were  laughed  at,  despised  —  and 
paid.     Which  last  was  what  they  aimed  at." 

Dear  me  !  thought  I,  how  apt  history  is  to  re- 
verse contemporary  judgments.  Surely  only  the 
worst  of  them  were  as  bad  as  that.  But  I  must 
admit  that  they  were  mostly  prigs,  and  that  they 
were  commercial.  I  said  aloud,  though  more  to 
myself  than  to  Hammond,  "  Well,  how  could  they 
be  better  than  the  age  that  made  them  ?  " 

"True,"  he  said,  "but  their  pretensions  were 
higher." 

"  Were  they  ?  "  said  I,  smiling. 

"  You  drive  me  from  corner  to  corner,"  said  he, 
smiling  in  turn.  "  Let  me  say  at  least  that  they 
were  a  poor  sequence  to  the  aspirations  of  Oxford 
of  'the  barbarous  Middle  Ages.'" 

"Yes,  that  will  do,"  said  I. 

"Also,"  said  Hammond,  "what  I  have  been  say- 
ing of  them  is  true  in  the  main.     But  ask  on ! " 

I  said :  "  We  have  heard  about  London  and  the 
manufacturing  districts  and  the  ordinary  towns ; 
how  about  the  villages  ?  " 

Said  Hammond :  "  You  must  know  that  toward 
the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century  the  villages  were 
almost  destroyed,  unless  where  they  became  mere 
adjuncts  to  the  manufacturing  districts,  or  formed 
a  sort  of  minor  manufacturing  districts,  themselves. 
Houses  were  allowed  to  fall  into  decay  and  actual 
ruin ;  trees  were  cut  down  for  the  sake  of  the  few 
shillings  which  the  poor  sticks  would  fetch ;  the 
building  became  inexpressibly  mean  and  hideous. 
Labor  was  scarce,  but  wages  fell  nevertheless.  All 
the  small  country  arts  of  life  which  once  added  to 
the  little  pleasures  of  country  people  were   lost. 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  99 

The  country  produce  which  passed  through  the 
hands  of  the  husbandmen  never  got  so  far  as  their 
mouths.  Incredible  shabbiness  and  niggardly  pinch- 
ing reigned  over  the  fields  and  acres,  which,  in  spite 
of  the  rude  and  careless  husbandry  of  the  times,  were 
so  kind  and  bountiful.  Had  you  any  inkling  of  all 
this  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  that  it  was  so,"  said  I ;  "  but  what 
followed  ?  " 

"  The  change,"  said  Hammond,  "  which  in  these 
matters  took  place  very  early  in  our  epoch,  was 
most  strangely  rapid.  People  flocked  into  the 
country  villages,  and,  so  to  say,  flung  themselves 
upon  the  freed  land  like  a  wild  beast  upon  his  prey ; 
and  in  a  very  little  time  the  villages  of  England 
were  more  populous  than  they  had  been  since  the 
fourteenth  century,  and  were  still  growing  fast.  Of 
course,  this  invasion  of  the  country  was  awkward 
to  deal  with,  and  would  have  created  much  misery  if 
the  folk  had  still  been  under  the  bondage  of  class 
monopoly.  But  as  it  was,  things  soon  righted  them- 
selves. People  found  out  what  they  were  fit  for,  and 
gave  up  attempting  to  push  themselves  into  occupa- 
tions in  which  they  must  needs  fail.  The  town  in- 
vaded the  country ;  but  the  invaders,  like  the  warlike 
invaders  of  early  days,  yielded  to  the  influence  of 
their  surroundings,  and  became  country  people ; 
and  in  their  turn,  as  they  became  more  numerous 
than  the  townsmen,  influenced  them  also  ;  so  that 
the  difference  between  town  and  country  grew  less 
and  less  ;  and  it  was  indeed  this  world  of  the  coun- 
try vivified  by  the  thought  and  briskness  of  town- 
bred  folk  which  has  produced  that  happy  and 
leisurely  but  eager  life  of  which  you  have  had  a 


100  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

first  taste.  Again  I  say,  many  blunders  were  made, 
but  we  have  had  time  to  set  them  right.  Much 
was  left  for  the  men  of  my  earlier  life  to  deal  with. 
The  crude  ideas  of  the  first  half  of  the  twentieth 
century,  when  men  were  still  oppressed  by  the  fear 
of  poverty,  and  did  not  look  enough  to  the  present 
pleasure  of  ordinary  daily  life,  spoilt  a  great  deal 
of  what  the  commercial  age  had  left  us  of  external 
beauty;  and  I  admit  that  it  was  but  slowly  that 
men  recovered  from  the  injuries  that  they  inflicted 
on  themselves  even  after  they  became  free.  But 
slowly  as  the  recovery  came,  it  did  come ;  and 
the  more  you  see  of  us,  the  clearer  it  will  be  to 
you  that  we  are  happy ;  that  we  live  amid  beauty 
without  any  fear  of  becoming  effeminate  ;  that  we 
have  plenty  to  do,  and  on  the  whole  enjoy  doing  it. 
What  more  can  we  ask  of  life  ?  " 

He  paused,  as  if  he  were  seeking  for  words  with 
which  to  express  his  thought.     Then  he  said,  — 

"  This  is  how  we  stand.  England  was  once  a 
country  of  clearings  among  the  woods  and  wastes, 
with  a  few  towns  interspersed,  which  were  for- 
tresses for  the  feudal  army,  markets  for  the  folk, 
gathering-places  for  the  craftsmen.  It  then  became 
a  country  of  huge  and  foul  workshops  and  fouler 
gambling-dens,  surrounded  by  an  ill-kept,  poverty- 
stricken  farm,  pillaged  by  the  masters  of  the  work- 
shops. It  is  now  a  garden,  where  nothing  is 
wasted  and  nothing  is  spoiled,  with  the  necessary 
dwellings,  sheds,  and  workshops  scattered  up  and 
down  the  country,  all  trim  and  neat  and  pretty. 
For,  indeed,  we  should  be  too  much  ashamed  of 
ourselves  if  we  allowed  the  making  of  goods,  even 
on  a  large  scale,  to  carry  with  it  the  appearance  even 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  101 

of  desolation  and  misery.  Why,  my  friend,  those 
housewives  we  were  talking  of  just  now  would  teach 
us  better  than  that." 

Said  I :  "  This  side  of  your  change  is  certainly 
for  the  better.  But  though  I  shall  soon  see  some 
of  these  villages,  tell  me  in  a  word  or  two  what 
they  are  like,  just  to  prepare  me." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  "  you  have  seen  a  tolerable 
picture  of  these  villages  as  they  were  before  the 
end  of  the  nineteenth  century.     Such  things  exist." 

"  I  have  seen  several  of  such  pictures,"  said  I. 

"  Well,"  said  Hammond,  "  our  villages  are  some- 
thing like  the  best  of  such  places,  with  the  church 
or  mote-house  of  the  neighbors  for  their  chief 
building.  Only  note  that  there  are  no  tokens  of 
poverty  about  them,  —  no  tumble-down  picturesque ; 
which,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  the  artist  usually 
availed  himself  of  to  veil  his  incapacity  for  draw- 
ing architecture.  Such  things  do  not  please  us, 
even  when  they  indicate  no  misery.  Like  the  med- 
isevals,  we  like  everything  trim  and  clean,  and  or- 
derly and  bright,  —  as  people  always  do  when  they 
have  any  sense  of  architectural  power ;  because 
then  they  know  that  they  can  have  what  they  want, 
and  they  won't  stand  any  nonsense  from  Nature  in 
their  dealings  with  her." 

"  Besides  the  villages,  are  there  any  scattered 
country  houses  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,  plenty,"  said  Hammond ;  "  in  fact,  except  in 
the  wastes  and  forests  and  among  the  sand-hills  (like 
Hindhead  in  Surrey),  it  is  not  easy  to  be  out  of 
sight  of  a  house  ;  and  where  the  houses  are  thinly 
scattered  they  run  large,  and  are  more  like  the  old 
colleges  than  ordinary  houses  as  they  used  to  be. 


102  NEWS   FROM    NOWHERE  ; 

That  is  done  for  the  sake  of  society,  for  a  good 
many  people  can  dwell  in  such  houses,  as  the 
country  dwellers  are  not  necessarily  husbandmen; 
though  they  almost  all  help  in  such  work  at  times. 
The  life  that  goes  on  in  these  big  dwellings  in  the 
country  is  very  pleasant,  especially  as  some  of  the 
most  studious  men  of  our  time  live  in  them,  and  al- 
together there  is  a  great  variety  of  mind  and  mood 
to  be  found  in  them,  which  brightens  and  quickens 
the  society  there." 

"  I  am  rather  surprised,"  said  I,  "  by  all  this,  for 
it  seems  to  me  that  after  all  the  country  must  be 
tolerably  populous." 

"  Certainly,"  said  he ;  "  the  population  is  pretty 
much  the  same  as  it  was  at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth 
century  ;  we  have  spread  it,  that  is  all.  Of  course, 
also,  we  have  helped  to  populate  other  countries, 
—  where  we  were  wanted  and  were  called  for." 

Said  I :  "  One  thing,  it  seems  to  me,  does  not  go 
with  your  word  of  '  garden  '  for  the  country.  You 
have  spoken  of  wastes  and  forests,  and  I  myself 
have  seen  the  beginning  of  your  Middlesex  and 
Essex  forest.  Why  do  you  keep  such  things  in  a 
garden  ?  and  is  n't  it  very  wasteful  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  My  friend,"  he  said,  "  we  like  these  pieces  of 
wild  nature,  and  can  afford  them,  so  we  have  them. 
Let  alone  that  as  to  the  forests,  we  need  a  great 
deal  of  timber,  and  suppose  that  our  sons  and  sons' 
sons  will  do  the  like.  As  to  the  land  being  a  gar- 
den, I  have  heard  that  they  used  to  have  shrubber- 
ies and  rockeries  in  gardens  once ;  and  though  I 
might  not  like  the  artificial  ones,  I  assure  you  that 
some  of  the  natural  rockeries  of  our  garden  are 
worth  seeing.     Go  North  this  summer  and  look  at 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   EEST.  103 

the  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland  ones,  —  where, 
by  the  way,  you  will  see  some  sheep  feeding,  so 
they  are  not  so  wasteful  as  you  think,  —  not  so 
wasteful  as  forcing  grounds  for  fruit  out  of  season, 
/  think.  Go  and  have  a  look  at  the  sheep-walks 
high  up  the  slopes  between  Ingleborough  and  Pen- 
y-gwent,  and  tell  me  if  you  think  we  waste  the  land 
there  by  not  covering  it  with  factories  for  making 
things  that  nobody  wants,  which  was  the  chief 
business   of  the  nineteenth  century." 

"  I  will  try  to  go  there,"  said  I. 

"  It  won't  take  much  trying,"  said  he. 


104  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 


CHAPTER  XI. 

CONCERNING    GOVERNMENT. 

"  1ST  O^V  sa^  I)  "  I  have  come  to  the  point  of 

-^  asking  questions  which  I  suppose  will  be 
dry  for  you  to  answer  and  difficult  for  you  to  ex- 
plain ;  but  I  have  foreseen  for  some  time  past  that 
I  must  ask  them,  will  I,  nill  I.  What  kind  of  a 
government  have  you  ?  Has  republicanism  finally 
triumphed,  or  have  you  come  to  a  mere  dictator- 
ship, which  some  persons  in  the  nineteenth  century 
used  to  prophesy  as  the  ultimate  outcome  of  democ- 
racy? Indeed,  this  last  question  does  not  seem  so 
very  unreasonable,  since  you  have  turned  your  Par- 
liament house  into  a  dung-market.  Or  where  do 
you  house  your  present  Parliament  ?  " 

The  old  man  answered  my  smile  with  a  hearty 
laugh,  and  said:  "Well,  well,  dung  is  not  the  worst 
kind  of  corruption ;  fertility  may  come  of  that, 
whereas  mere  dearth  came  from  the  other  kind  of 
which  those  walls  once  held  the  great  supporters. 
Now,  dear  guest,  let  me  tell  you  that  our  present 
parliament  would  be  hard  to  house  in  one  place, 
because  the  whole  people  is  our  parliament." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  I. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  he.  "  I  must  now 
shock  you  by  telling  you  that  we  have  no  longer 
anything  which  you,  a  native  of  another  planet, 
would  call  a  government." 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  105 

"I  am  not  so  much  shocked  as  you  might  think," 
said  I,  "  as  I  know  something  about  governments. 
But  tell  me  how  do  you  manage,  and  how  have  you 
come  to  this  state  of  things  ?  " 

Said  he :  "  It  is  true  that  we  have  to  make  some 
arrangements  about  our  affairs,  concerning  which 
you  can  ask  presently ;  and  it  is  also  true  that 
everybody  does  not  always  agree  with  the  details 
of  these  arrangements ;  but,  further,  it  is  true  that  a 
man  no  more  needs  an  elaborate  system  of  govern- 
ment, with  its  army,  navy,  and  police,  to  force  him 
to  give  way  to  the  will  of  the  majority  of  his 
equals,  than  he  wants  a  similar  machinery  to  make 
him  understand  that  his  head  and  a  stone  wall  can- 
not occupy  the  same  space  at  the  same  moment. 
Do  you  want  further  explanation  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  do,"  quoth  I. 

Old  Hammond  settled  himself  in  his  chair  with 
a  look  of  enjoyment  which  rather  alarmed  me,  and 
made  me  dread  a  scientific  disquisition ;  so  I  sighed 
and  abided.     He  said :  — 

"  I  suppose  you  know  pretty  well  what  the  pro- 
cess of  government  was  in  the  bad  old  times  ?  " 

"  I  am  supposed  to  know,"  said  I. 

Hammond.  What  was  the  government  of  those 
days  ?  Was  it  really  the  Parliament  or  any  part 
of  it  ? 

/.   No. 

H.  Was  not  the  Parliament  on  the  one  side  a 
kind  of  watch-committee  sitting  to  see  that  the  in- 
terests of  the  Upper  Classes  took  no  hurt ;  and  on 
the  other  side  a  sort  of  blind  to  delude  the  people 
into  supposing  that  they  had  some  share  in  the 
management  of  their  own  affairs  ? 


106  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

I.    History  seems  to  show  us  this. 

H.  To  what  extent  did  the  people  manage  their 
own  affairs  ? 

I.  I  judge  from  what  I  have  heard  that  some- 
times they  forced  the  Parliament  to  make  a  law  to 
legalize  some  alteration  which  had  already  taken 
place. 

H.   Anything  else  ? 

I.  I  think  not.  As  I  am  informed,  if  the  people 
made  any  attempt  to  deal  with  the  cause  of  their 
grievances  the  law  stepped  in  and  said,  This  is  se- 
dition, revolt,  or  what  not,  and  slew  or  tortured  the 
ringleaders  of  such  attempts. 

H.  If  Parliament  was  not  the  government  then, 
nor  the  people  either,  what  was  the  government  ? 

i".    Can  you  tell  me  ? 

H.  I  think  we  shall  not  be  far  wrong  if  we  say 
that  government  was  the  law-courts,  backed  up  by 
the  executive,  which  handled  the  brute  force  that 
the  deluded  people  allowed  them  to  use  for  their 
own  purposes ;  I  mean  the  army,  navy,  and  police. 

I.  Reasonable  men  must  needs  think  you  are 
right. 

IT.  Now  as  to  those  law-courts.  Were  they 
places  of  fair  dealing  according  to  the  ideas  of  the 
day  ?  Had  a  poor  man  a  good  chance  of  defending 
his  property  and  person  in  them  ? 

I.  It  is  a  commonplace  that  even  rich  men  looked 
upon  a  law-suit  as  a  dire  misfortune,  even  if  they 
gained  the  case  ;  and  as  for  a  poor  one  —  why,  it 
was  considered  a  miracle  of  justice  and  beneficence 
if  a  poor  man  who  had  once  got  into  the  clutches 
of  the  law  escaped  prison  or  utter  ruin. 

H.   It  seems,  then,  my  son,  that  the  government 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  107 

by  law-courts  and  police,  which  was  the  real  gov- 
ernment of  the  nineteenth  century,  was  not  a  great 
success  even  to  the  people  of  that  day,  living  under 
a  class  system  which  proclaimed  inequality  and 
poverty  as  the  law  of  God  and  the  bond  which  held 
the  world  together. 

I.    So  it  seems,  indeed. 

H.  And  now  that  all  this  is  changed,  and  the 
"  rights  of  property,"  which  means  the  clenching 
the  fist  on  a  piece  of  goods  and  crying  out  to  the 
neighbors,  You  sha'n't  have  this !  —  now  that  all  this 
has  disappeared,  so  utterly  that  it  is  no  longer  pos- 
sible even  to  jest  upon  its  absurdity,  is  such  a 
Government  possible  ? 

I.   It  is  impossible. 

H.  Yes,  happily.  But  for  what  other  purpose 
than  the  protection  of  the  rich  from  the  poor,  the 
strong  from  the  weak,  did  this  Government  exist  ? 

I.  I  have  heard  that  it  was  said  that  their  office 
was  to  defend  their  own  citizens  against  attack 
from  other  countries. 

H.  It  was  said ;  but  was  any  one  expected  to 
believe  this  ?  For  instance,  did  the  English  Gov- 
ernment defend  the  English  citizen  against  the 
French  ? 

i".    So  it  was  said. 

H.  Then  if  the  French  had  invaded  England 
and  conquered  it,  they  would  not  have  allowed  the 
English  workmen  to  live  well  ? 

/  (laughing).  As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  the 
English  masters  of  the  English  workmen  saw  to 
that ;  they  took  from  their  workmen  as  much  of 
their  livelihood  as  they  dared,  because  they  wanted 
it  for  themselves. 


108  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

H.  But  if  the  French  had  conquered,  would 
they  not  have  taken  more  still  from  the  English 
workmen  ? 

I.  I  do  not  think  so ;  for  in  that  case  the  Eng- 
lish workmen  would  have  died  of  starvation ;  and 
then  the  French  conquest  would  have  ruined  the 
French,  just  as  if  the  English  horses  and  cattle 
had  died  of  underfeeding.  So  that  after  all,  the 
English  workmen  would  have  been  no  worse  off 
for  the  conquest;  their  French  masters  could 
have  got  no  more  from  them  than  their  English 
masters  did. 

H.  This  is  true ;  and  we  may  admit  that  the 
pretensions  of  the  government  to  defend  the  poor 
(i.  e.,  the  useful)  people  against  other  countries 
come  to  nothing.  But  that  is  but  natural ;  for  we 
have  seen  already  that  it  was  the  function  of 
government  to  protect  the  rich  against  the  poor. 
But  did  not  the  govermnent  defend  its  rich  men 
against  other  nations  ? 

I.  I  do  not  remember  to  have  heard  that  the 
rich  needed  defence  ;  because  it  is  said  that  even 
when  two  nations  were  at  war,  the  rich  men  of 
each  nation  gambled  with  each  other  pretty  much 
as  usual,  and  even  sold  each  other  weapons  where- 
with to  kill  their  own  countrymen. 

H.  In  short,  it  comes  to  this,  that  whereas  the 
so-called  government  of  protection  of  propert}'  by 
means  of  the  law-courts  meant  destruction  of 
wealth,  this  defence  of  the  citizens  of  one  country 
against  those  of  another  country  by  means  of  war 
or  the  threat  of  war  meant  pretty  much  the  same 
thing. 

I.   I  cannot  deny  it. 


OR,  AN  EPOCH   OF  REST.  109 

H.  Therefore  the  government  really  existed  for 
the  destruction  of  wealth  ? 

I.    So  it  seems.     And  yet  — 

H.   Yet  what  ? 

I.   There  were  many  rich  people  in  those  times. 

H.   You  see  the  consequences  of  that  fact  ? 

I.  I  think  I  do.    But  tell  me  out  what  they  were. 

H.  If  the  government  habitually  destroyed 
wealth,  the  country  must  have  been  poor  ? 

I.    Yes,  certainly. 

H.  Yet  amid  this  poverty  the  persons  for  the 
sake  of  whom  the  government  existed  insisted  on 
being  rich  whatever  might  happen  ? 

I.   So  it  was. 

H.  What  must  happen  if  in  a  poor  country  some 
people  insist  on  being  rich  at  the  expense  of  the 
others  ? 

I.  Unutterable  poverty  for  the  others.  All  this 
misery,  then,  was  caused  by  the  destructive  govern- 
ment of  which  we  have  been  speaking  ? 

H.  Kay,  it  would  be  incorrect  to  say  so.  The 
government  itself  was  but  the  necessary  result  of 
the  careless,  aimless  tyranny  of  the  times,  it  was 
but  the  machinery  of  tyranny.  Now  tyranny  has 
come  to  an  end,  and  we  no  longer  need  such  ma- 
chinery ;  we  could  not  possibly  use  it  since  we  are 
free.  Therefore  in  your  sense  of  the  word  we  have  ! 
no  government.     Do  you  understand  this  now  ? 

I.  Yes,  I  do.  But  I  will  ask  you  some  more 
questions  as  to  how  you  as  free  men  manage  your 
affairs. 

H.   With  all  my  heart.     Ask  away. 


110  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 


CHAPTER  XII. 

CONCERNING    THE    ARRANGEMENT    OF    LIFE. 

"  T  X  7 ELL,"  I  said,  "  about  those  '  arrangements  ' 

*  *  which  you  spoke  of  as  taking  the  place 
of  government,  —  could  you  give  me  any  account 
of  them  ?  " 

"  Neighbor,"  he  said,  u  although  we  have  simpli- 
fied our  lives  a  great  deal  from  what  they  were, 
and  got  rid  of  many  conventionalities  and  many 
sham  wants,  which  used  to  give  our  forefathers 
much  trouble,  yet  our  life  is  too  complex  for  me 
to  tell  you  in  detail  by  means  of  words  how  it  is 
arranged ;  you  must  find  that  out  by  living  among 
us.  It  is  true  that  I  can  better  tell  you  what  we 
don't  do  than  what  we  do  do." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  I. 

"  This  is  the  way  to  put  it,"  said  he :  "  we  have 
been  living  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  at  least, 
more  or  less  in  our  present  manner,  and  a  tradition 
or  habit  of  life  has  been  growing  on  us ;  and  that 
habit  has  become  a  habit  of  acting  on  the  whole  for 
the  best.  It  is  easy  for  us  to  live  without  robbing 
each  other.  It  would  be  possible  for  us  to  contend 
with  and  rob  each  other,  but  it  would  be  harder 
for  us  than  refraining  from  strife  and  robbery. 
That  is,  in  short,  the  foundation  of  our  life  and  our 
happiness." 


OE,    AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  Ill 

"  Whereas  in  the  old  days,"  said  I,  "  it  was  very 
hard  to  live  without  strife  and  robbery.  That 's 
what  you  mean,  is  n't  it,  by  giving  me  the  negative 
side  of  your  good  conditions  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  was  so  hard  that  those  who 
habitually  acted  fairly  to  their  neighbors  were  cele- 
brated as  saints  and  heroes,  and  were  looked  up  to 
with  the  greatest  reverence." 

"  While  they  were  alive  ?  "  said  I. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  after  they  were  dead." 

"  But  as  to  these  days,"  I  said ;  "  you  don't  mean 
to  tell  me  that  no  one  ever  transgresses  this  habit 
of  good  fellowship  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Hammond ;  "  but  when  the 
transgressions  occur,  everybody,  transgressors  and 
all,  know  them  for  what  they  are,  —  the  errors  of 
friends,  not  the  habitual  actions  of  persons  driven 
into  enmity  against  society." 

"  I  see,"  said  I ;  "  you  mean  that  you  have  no 
'criminal  classes.'" 

"  How  could  we  have  them,"  said  he,  "  since  there 
is  no  rich  class  to  breed  enemies  against  the  State 
by  means  of  the  injustice  of  the  State  ?  " 

Said  I :  "  I  thought  that  I  understood,  from  some- 
thing that  fell  from  you  a  little  while  ago,  that  you 
had  abolished  civil  law.     Is  that  so,  literally  ?  " 

"  It  abolished  itself,  my  friend,"  said  he.  "  As 
I  said  before,  the  civil-law  courts  were  upheld  for 
the  defence  of  private  property  ;  for  nobody  ever 
pretended  that  it  was  possible  to  make  people  act 
fairly  to  each  other  by  means  of  brute  force.  Well, 
private  property  being  abolished,  all  the  laws  and  \ 
all  the  legal '  crimes '  which  it  had  manufactured  of  : 
course  came  to  an  end.     '  Thou  snalt  not  steal '  had 


112  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

to  be  translated  into,  Thou  shalt  work  in  order  to 
live  happily.  Is  there  any  need  to  enforce  that 
commandment  by  violence  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  that  is  understood,  and  I  agree 
with  it ;  but  how  about  crimes  of  violence  ?  would 
not  their  occurrence  (and  you  admit  that  they  occur) 
make  criminal  law  necessary  ?  " 

Said  he :  "  In  your  sense  of  the  word,  we  have 
no  criminal  law  either.  Let  us  look  at  the  matter 
closer,  and  see  whence  crimes  of  violence  spring. 
By  far  the  greater  part  of  these  in  past  days  were 
the  result  of  the  laws  of  private  property,  which 
forbade  the  satisfaction  of  their  natural  desires  to 
all  but  a  privileged  few,  and  of  the  general  visible 
coercion  which  came  of  those  laws.  All  that  cause 
of  violent  crime  is  gone.  Again,  many  violent  acts 
came  from  the  artificial  perversion  of  the  sexual 
passions,  which  caused  over-weening  jealousy  and 
the  like  miseries.  Now,  when  you  look  carefully 
into  these,  you  will  find  that  what  lay  at  the  bot- 
tom of  them  was  mostly  the  idea  (a  law-made  idea) 
of  the  woman  being  the  property  of  the  man, 
whether  he  were  husband,  father,  brother,  or  what 
not.  That  idea  has  of  course  vanished  with  pri- 
vate property,  as  well  as  certain  follies  about  the 
'  ruin '  of  women  for  following  their  natural  desires 
in  an  illegal  way,  which  was  of  course  a  convention 
caused  by  the  laws  of  private  property." 

"Another  cognate  cause  of  crimes  of  violence 
was  the  family  tyranny,  which  was  the  subject  of 
so  many  novels  and  stories  of  the  past,  and  which 
once  more  was  the  result  of  private  property.  Of 
course  that  is  all  ended,  since  families  are  held  to- 
gether by  no  bond  of  coercion,  legal  or  social,  but 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  113 

by  mutual  liking  and  affection,  and  everybody  is 
free  to  come  or  go  as  he  or  she  pleases.  Further- 
more, our  standards  of  honor  and  public  estimation 
are  very  different  from  the  old  ones,  and  success  in 
besting  our  neighbors  is  a  road  to  renown  now  closed, 
let  us  hope  forever.  Each  man  is  free  to  exercise 
his  special  faculty  to  the  utmost,  and  every  one  en- 
courages him  in  so  doing.  So  that  we  have  got  rid 
of  the  scowling  envy,  coupled  by  the  poets  with 
hatred,  and  surely  with  good  reason ;  heaps  of  un- 
happiness  and  ill-blood  were  caused  by  it,  which 
with  irritable  and  passionate  men  —  i.  e.,  energetic 
and  active  men  —  often  led  to  violence." 

I  laughed,  and  said :  "  So  that  you  now  Avithdraw 
your  admission,  and  say  that  there  is  no  violence 
among  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  withdraw  nothing ;  as  I  told 
you,  such  things  will  happen.  Hot  blood  will  err 
sometimes.  A  man  may  strike  another,  and  the 
stricken  strike  back  again,  and  the  result  be  a  homi- 
cide, to  put  it  at  the  worst.  But  what  then  ?  Shall 
we  the  neighbors  make  it  worse  still  ?  Shall  we 
think  so  poorly  of  each  other  as  to  suppose  that  the 
slain  man  calls  on  us  to  revenge  him  ?  —  when 
we  know  that  if  he  had  been  maimed  he  would, 
when  in  cold  blood  and  able  to  weigh  all  the  cir- 
cumstances, have  forgiven  his  maimer  ?  Or  will 
the  death  of  the  slayer  bring  the  slain  man  to 
life  again  and  cure  the  unhappiness  his  loss  has 
caused  ? " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  but  consider,  must  not  the  safety 
of  society  be  safeguarded  by  some  punishment  ?  " 

"  There,  neighbor  !  "  said  the  old  man,  with  some 
exultation.  "  You  have  hit  the  mark.  That  pur* 
8 


V 


114  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

ishment  of  which  men  used  to  talk  so  wisely  and 
act  so  foolishly,  what  was  it  but  the  expression  of 
their  fear  ?  And  they  had  need  to  fear,  since  they 
—  i.  e.,  the  rulers  of  society  —  were  dwelling  like 
an  armed  band  in  a  hostile  country.  But  we  who 
live  among  our  friends  need  neither  fear  nor  punish. 
Surely  if  we,  in  dread  of  an  occasional  rare  homi- 
cide, an  occasional  rough  blow,  were  to  solemnly 
and  legally  commit  homicide  and  violence,  we  could 
only  be  a  society  of  ferocious  cowards.  Don't  you 
think  so,  neighbor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  when  I  come  to  think  of  it  from  that 
side,"  said  I. 

"Yet  you  must  understand,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  that  when  any  violence  is  committed,  we  expect 
the  transgressor  to  make  any  atonement  possible  to 
him,  and  he  himself  expects  it.  But  again,  think 
if  the  destruction  or  serious  injury  of  a  man  mo- 
mentarily overcome  by  wrath  or  folly  can  be  any 
atonement  to  the  commonwealth.  Surely  it  can 
only  be  an  additional  injury  to  it." 

Said  I :  "  But  suppose  the  man  has  a  habit  of 
violence,  —  kills  a  man  a  year,  for  instance  ?  " 

"Such  a  thing  is  unknown,"  said  he.  "In  a 
society  where  there  is  no  punishment  to  evade,  no 
law  to  triumph  over,  remorse  will  certainly  follow 
transgression." 

"And  lesser  outbreaks  of  violence,"  said  I,  "  how 
do  you  deal  with  them  ?  for  hitherto  we  have  been 
talking  of  great  tragedies,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Said  Hammond :  "  If  the  ill-doer  is  not  sick  or 
mad  (in  which  case  he  must  be  restrained  till  his 
sickness  or  madness  is  cured)  it  is  clear  that  grief 
and   humiliation   must   follow   the    ill-deed :    and 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  115 

society  in  general  will  make  that  pretty  clear  to 
the  ill-doer  if  he  should  chance  to  be  dull  to  it ; 
and  again,  some  kind  of  atonement  will  follow,  — 
at  the  least,  an  open  acknowledgment  of  the  grief 
and  humiliation.  Is  it  so  hard,  to  say,  i  I  ask  your 
pardon,  neighbor '  ?  Well,  sometimes  it  is  hard  — 
and  let  it  be." 

"  You  think  that  enough  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  and  moreover  it  is  all  that  we 
can  do.  If  in  addition  we  torture  the  man,  we 
turn  his  grief  into  anger ;  and  the  humiliation  he 
would  otherwise  feel  for  his  wrong-doing  is  swal- 
lowed up  by  a  hope  of  revenge  for  our  wrong-doing 
to  him.  He  has  paid  the  legal  penalty,  and  can 
'  go  and  sin  again '  with  comfort.  Shall  we  com- 
mit such  a  folly,  then  ?  Eemember  Jesus  had  got 
the  legal  penalty  remitted  before  he  said,  '  Go  and 
sin  no  more.'  Let  alone  that  in  a  society  of  equals 
you  will  not  find  any  one  to  play  the  part  of  tor- 
turer or  jailer,  though  many  to  act  as  nurse  or 
doctor." 

"  So,"  said  I,  "  you  consider  crime  a  mere  spas^ 
modic  disease,  which  requires  no  body  of  criminal 
law  to  deal  with  it  ?  " 

"Pretty  much  so,"  said  he;  "and  since,  as  I 
have  told  you,  we  are  a  healthy  people  generally, 
so  we  are  not  likely  to  be  much  troubled  with  this 
disease." 

Said  I:  "Well,  you  have  no  civil  law,  and  no 
criminal  law.  But  have  you  no  laws  of  the  market, 
so  to  say,  —  no  regulation  for  the  exchange  of 
wares  ?  for  you  must  exchange,  even  if  you  have 
no  property." 

Said  he  :    "  We  have  no  obvious  individual  ex 


116  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

change,  as  you  saw  this  morning  when  you  went 
a-shopping ;  but  of  course  there  are  regulations 
of  the  markets,  varying  according  to  the  circum- 
/  stances,  and  guided  by  general  custom.  But  as 
'  these  are  matters  of  general  assent,  which  nobody 
dreams  of  objecting  to,  so  also  we  have  made  no 
provision  for  enforcing  them ;  therefore  I  don't 
call  them  laws.  In  law,  whether  it  be  criminal  or 
civil,  execution  always  follows  judgment,  and  some- 
one must  suffer.  When  you  see  the  judge  on  his 
bench,  you  see  through  him,  as  clearly  as  if  he  were 
made  of  glass,  the  policeman  to  imprison  and  the 
soldier  to  slay  some  actual  living  person.  Such 
follies  would  make  an  agreeable  market,  would  n't 
they  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  said  I,  "that  means  turning  the 
market  into  a  mere  battle-field,  in  which  many 
people  must  suffer  as  much  as  in  the  battle-field  of 
bullet  and  bayonet.  And  from  what  I  have  seen  I 
should  suppose  that  your  marketing,  great  and  little, 
is  carried  on  in  a  way  that  makes  it  a  pleasant 
occupation." 

"  You  are  right,  neighbor,"  said  he.  "  Although 
there  are  so  many,  indeed  by  far  the  greater  number 
among  us,  who  would  be  unhappy  if  they  were  not 
engaged  in  actually  making  things,  and  things 
which  turn  out  beautiful  under  their  hands,  — 
there  are  many,  like  the  housekeepers  I  was  speak- 
ing of,  whose  delight  is  in  administration,  organ- 
ization, to  use  long-tailed  words ;  I  mean  people 
who  like  keeping  things  together,  avoiding  waste, 
seeing  that  nothing  sticks  fast  uselessly.  Such 
people  are  thoroughly  happy  in  their  business,  all 
the  more  as  they  are  dealing  with  actual  facts,  and 


OR,  AN  EPOCH   OF   REST.  117 

not  merely  passing  counters  round  to  see  what 
share  they  shall  have  in  the  privileged  taxation  of 
useful  people,  which  was  the  business  of  the  com- 
mercial folk  in  past  days.  Well,  what  are  you 
going  to  ask  me  next  ?  " 


118  NEWS  from  nowhere; 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

CONCERNING    POLITICS. 

SAID  I :  "  How  do  you  manage  with  politics  ?  " 
Said  Hammond,  smiling :  "  I  am  glad  that 
it  is  of  me  that  you  ask  that  question ;  I  do 
believe  that  anybody  else  would  have  made  you 
explain  yourself,  or  try  to  do  so,  till  you  were 
sickened  of  asking  questions.  Indeed,  I  believe  I 
am  the  oiily  man  in  England  who  would  know  what 
you  mean ;  and  since  I  know,  I  will  answer  your 
question  briefly  by  saying  that  we  are  very  well 
off  as  to  politics, —  because  we  have  none.  If  ever 
you  make  a  book  out  of  this  conversation,  put  this 
in  a  chapter  by  itself,  after  the  model  of  old 
Horrebow's  '  Snakes  in  Iceland.' " 
"I  will,"  said  I. 


OB,  AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  119 


B 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

HOW   MATTERS    ARE    MANAGED. 

i  UT,"  quoth  I,  "  is  there  no  difference  of  opin- 
*  ion  among  you  ?  Is  that  your  assertion  ?  " 
"  No,  not  at  all,"  said  he,  somewhat  snappishly ; 
"  but  I  do  say  that  differences  of  opinion  about  real, 
solid  things  need  not,  and  with  us  do  not,  crystal- 
lize people  into  parties  permanently  hostile  to  one 
another,  with  different  theories  as  to  the  build  of 
the  universe  and  the  progress  of  time.  Is  n't  that 
what  politics  used  to  mean  ?  " 

"  H'm,  well,"  said  I,  "  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that." 
Said  he  :  "I  take  you,  neighbor ,  they  only  pre- 
tended to  this  serious  difference  of  opinion ;  for  if 
it  had  existed  they  could  not  have  dealt  together 
in  the  ordinary  business  of  life;  couldn't  have 
eaten  together,  bought  and  sold  together,  gambled 
together,  cheated  other  people  together,  but  must 
have  fought  whenever  they  met,  —  which  would  not 
have  suited  them  at  all.  The  game  of  the  masters 
of  politics  was  to  cajole  or  force  the  public  to  pay 
the  expense  of  a  luxurious  life  and  exciting  amuse- 
ment for  a  few  cliques  of  ambitious  persons  :  and 
the  pretence  of  serious  difference  of  opinion,  belied 
by  every  action  of  their  lives,  was  quite  good 
enough  for  that.  What  has  all  that  got  to  do  with 
us?" 


120  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

Said  I :  "  Why,  nothing,  I  should  hope.  But  I 
fear —  In  short,  I  have  been  told  that  political 
strife  was  a  necessary  result  of  human  nature." 

"  Human  nature ! "  cried  the  old  boy,  impetu- 
ously, "  what  human  nature  ?  The  human  nature 
of  paupers,  of  slaves,  of  slave-holders,  or  the  hu- 
man nature  of  wealthy  freemen  ?  Which  ?  Come, 
tell  me  that  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  suppose  there  would  be  a 
difference  according  to  circumstances  in  people's 
action  about  these  matters." 

"  I  should  think  so,  indeed,"  said  he.  "  At  all 
events,  experience  shows  that  it  is  so.  Among 
us,  our  differences  concern  matters  of  business,  and 
passing  events  as  to  them,  and  could  not  divide 
men  permanently.  As  a  rule,  the  immediate  out- 
come shows  which  opinion  on  a  given  subject  is 
the  right  one  ;  it  is  a  matter  of  fact,  not  of  specula- 
tion. For  instance,  it  is  clearly  not  easy  to  knock 
up  a  political  party  on  the  question  as  to  whether 
hay-making  in  such  and  such  a  country-side  shall 
begin  this  week  or  next,  when  all  men  agree  that 
it  must  at  latest  begin  the  week  after  next,  and 
when  any  man  can  go  down  into  the  fields  him 
self  and  see  whether  the  seeds  are  ripe  enough  for 
cutting." 

Said  I  :  "  And  you  settle  these  differences, 
great  and  small,  by  the  will  of  the  majority,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  he  ;  "  how  else  could  we  settle 
them  ?  You  see,  in  matters  which  are  merely  per- 
sonal, which  do  not  affect  the  welfare  of  the  com- 
munity, —  how  a  man  shall  dress,  what  he  shall  eat 
and  drink,  what  he  shall  write   and  read,  and  so 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  121 

forth,  —  there  can  be  no  difference  of  opinion,  and 
everybody  does  as  he  pleases.  But  when  the  mat- 
ter is  of  common  interest  to  the  whole  community, 
and  the  doing  or  not  doing  something  affects  every- 
body, the  majority  must  have  their  way,  —  unless 
the  minority  were  to  take  up  arms  and  show  by ' 
force  that  they  were  the  effective  or  real  majority ; 
which,  however,  in  a  society  of  men  who  are  free 
and  equal  is  little  likely  to  happen;  because  in 
such  a  community  the  apparent  majority  is  the 
real  majority,  and  the  others,  as  I  have  hinted 
before,  know  that  too  well  to  obstruct  from  mere 
pigheadedness,  —  especially  as  they  have  had  plenty 
of  opportunity  of  putting  forward  their  side  of  the 
question." 

"  How  is  that  managed  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  let  us  take  one  of  our  units  of 
management,  a  commune,  or  a  ward,  or  a  parish 
(for  we  have  all  three  names,  indicating  little  real 
distinction  between  them  now,  though  time  was 
there  was  a  good  deal).  In  such  a  district,  as  you 
would  call  it,  some  neighbors  think  that  something 
ought  to  be  done  or  undone :  a  new  town-hall  built ; 
a  clearance  of  inconvenient  houses  ;  or  say  a  stone 
bridge  substituted  for  some  ugly  old  iron  one,  — 
there  you  have  undoing  and  doing  in  one.  Well, 
at  the  next  ordinary  meeting  of  the  neighbors,  or 
Mote  as  we  call  it,  according  to  the  ancient  tongue 
of  the  times  before  bureaucracy,  a  neighbor  pro- 
poses the  change,  and  of  course  if  everybody 
agrees,  there  is  an  end  of  discussion,  except  about 
details.  Equally,  if  no  one  backs  the  proposer  — 
'  seconds  him,'  it  used  to  be  called  —  the  matter 
drops   for  the   time   being ;  a  thing  not  likely  to 


122  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

happen  among  reasonable  men,  however,  as  the 
proposer  is  sure  to  have  talked  it  over  with  others 
before  the  Mote.  But  supposing  the  affair  pro- 
posed and  seconded,  if  a  few  of  the  neighbors  dis- 
agree to  it,  if  they  think  that  the  beastly  iron 
bridge  will  serve  a  little  longer  and  they  don't 
want  to  be  bothered  with  building  a  new  one  just 
then,  they  don't  count  heads  that  time,  but  put  off 
the  formal  discussion  to  the  next  Mote ;  and  mean- 
time arguments  pro  and  con  are  flying  about,  and 
some  get  printed,  so  that  everybody  knows  what  is 
going  on ;  and  when  the  Mote  comes  together  again 
there  is  a  regular  discussion  and  at  last  a  vote  by 
show  of  hands.  If  the  division  is  a  close  one,  the 
question  is  again  put  off  for  further  discussion  ; 
if  the  division  is  a  wide  one,  the  minority  are 
asked  if  they  will  yield  to  the  more  general  opin- 
ion, which  they  often,  nay,  most  commonly,  do. 
If  they  refuse,  the  question  is  debated  a  third 
time,  when,  if  the  minority  has  not  perceptibly 
grown,  they  always  give  way ;  though  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  if  there  is  any  rule  on  the  case,  they 
might  still  carry  it  on  further.  But,  I  say,  what 
always  happens  is  that  they  are  convinced,  not 
perhaps  that  their  view  is  the  wrong  one,  but  that 
they  cannot  persuade  or  force  the  community  to 
adopt  it." 

«  Very  good,"  said  I ;  "  but  what  happens  if  the 
divisions  are  still  narrow  ?  " 

Said  he  :  "Asa  matter  of  principle  and  accord- 
ing to  the  rule  of  such  cases,  the  question  must 
then  lapse,  and  the  majority,  if  so  narrow,  has  to 
submit  to  sitting  down  under  the  status  quo.  But 
I  must  tell  you  that  in  point  of  fact  the  minority 


OR,   AN  EPOCH   OF  REST.  123 

very  seldom  enforces  this  rule,  but  generally  yields 
in  a  friendly  manner." 

"  But  do  you  know,"  said  I,  "  that  there  is 
something  in  all  this  very  like  democracy  ; 
and  I  thought  that  democracy  was  considered 
to  be  in  a  moribund  condition  many,  many  years 
ago." 

The  old  boy's  eyes  twinkled.  "  I  grant  you  that 
our  methods  have  that  drawback.  But  what  is  to 
be  done  ?  We  can't  get  any  one  among  us  to  com- 
plain of  his  not  always  having  his  own  way  in  the 
teeth  of  the  community,  when  it  is  clear  that  every- 
body cannot  have  that  indulgence.  What  is  to  be 
done  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  I,  « I  don't  know." 

Said  he :  "  The  only  alternatives  to  our  method 
that  I  can  conceive  of  are  these :  first,  that  we 
should  choose  out,  or  breed,  a  class  of  superior 
persons  capable  of  judging  on  all  matters  without 
consulting  the  neighbors,  —  that,  in  short,  we  should 
get  for  ourselves  what  used  to  be  called  an  aris- 
tocracy of  intellect ;  or  secondly,  that  for  the  pur- 
pose of  safe-guarding  the  freedom  of  the  indi- 
vidual will,  we  should  revert  to  a  system  of  pri- 
vate property  again,  and  have  slaves  and  slave- 
holders once  more.  What  do  you  think  of  those 
two  expedients  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  I,  "there  is  a  third  possibility,  — to 
wit :  that  every  man  should  be  quite  independent 
of  every  other,  and  that  thus  the  tyranny  of  society 
should  be  abolished." 

He  looked  hard  at  me  for  a  second  or  two,  and 
then  burst  out  laughing  very  heartily;  and  I  con- 
fess that  I  joined  him.     When  he  recovered  him- 


124  NEWS   FROM    NOWHERE  J 

self  he  nodded  at  me  and  said :  "  Yes,  yes,  I  quite 
agree  with  you  —  and  so  we  all  do." 

"  Yes,"  I  said ;  "  and  besides,  it  does  not  press 
hardly  on  the  minority;  for,  take  this  matter  of 
the  bridge,  no  man  is  obliged  to  work  on  it  if  he 
does  n't  agree  to  its  building,  —  at  least,  I  suppose 
not." 

He  smiled,  and  said:  "Shrewdly  put;  and  yet 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  native  of  another 
planet.  If  the  man  of  the  minority  does  find  his 
feelings  hurt,  doubtless  he  may  relieve  them  by  re- 
fusing to  help  in  building  the  bridge.  But,  dear 
neighbor,  that  is  not  a  very  effective  salve  for  the 
wound  caused  by  the  '  tyranny  of  a  majority  '  in  our 
society ;  because  all  work  that  is  done  is  either  bene- 
ficial or  hurtful  to  every  member  of  it.  The  man 
is  benefited  by  the  bridge-building  if  it  turns  out  a 
good  thing,  and  hurt  by  it  if  it  turns  out  a  bad  one, 
whether  he  puts  a  hand  to  it  or  not,  and  meanwhile 
he  is  benefiting  the  bridge-builders  by  his  work, 
whatever  that  may  be.  In  fact,  I  see  no  help  for 
him  except  the  pleasure  of  saying,  '  I  told  you  so,' 
if  the  bridge-building  turns  out  to  be  a  mistake  and 
hurts  him ;  if  it  benefits  him  he  must  suffer  in 
silence. 

"  A  terrible  tyranny  our  Communism,  is  it  not  ? 
Folk  used  often  to  be  warned  against  this  very 
unhappiness  in  times  past,  when  for  every  well- 
fed,  contented  person  you  saw  a  thousand  mis- 
erable starvelings.  Whereas  for  us,  we  grow  fat 
and  well-liking  on  the  tyranny,  —  a  tyranny,  to 
say  the  truth,  not  to  be  made  visible  by  any  micro- 
scope I  know.  Don't  be  afraid,  my  friend ;  we  are 
not  going  to  seek  for  troubles  by  calling  our  peace 


OB,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  125 

and  plenty  and  happiness  by  ill  names  whose  very 
meaning  we  have  forgotten  !  " 

He  sat  musing  for  a  little,  and  then  started 
and  said :  "  Are  there  any  more  questions,  dear 
guest  ?  The  morning  is  waning  fast  amid  my 
garrulity." 


126  NEWS   FKOM   NOWHERE; 


CHAPTER   XV. 


ON    THE    LACK    OF    INCENTIVE   TO    LABOR    IN    A    COM- 
MUNIST   SOCIETY. 

"\7"ES,"  said  I.    "I  -was  expecting  Dick  and  Clara 

■*-  to  make  their  appearance  any  moment ;  but 
is  there  time  to  ask  just  one  or  two  questions 
before  they  come  ?  " 

"  Try  it,  dear  neighbor  —  try  it,"  said  old  Ham- 
mond. "  For  the  more  you  ask  me  the  better  I  am 
pleased ;  and  at  any  rate  if  they  do  come  and  find 
me  in  the  middle  of  an  answer,  they  must  sit  quiet 
and  pretend  to  listen  till  I  come  to  an  end.  It 
won't  hurt  them ;  they  will  find  it  quite  amusing 
enough  to  sit  side  by  side,  conscious  of  their  prox- 
imity to  each  other." 

I  smiled,  as  I  was  bound  to,  and  said :  "  Good ; 
I  will  go  on  talking,  without  noticing  them  when 
they  come  in.  Now,  this  is  what  I  want  to  ask 
you  about,  —  to  wit:  how  you  get  people  to  work 
when  there  is  no  reward  of  labor,  and  especially 
[how  you  get  them  to  work   strenuously." 

"Xo  reward  of  labor  ?  "  said  Hammond,  gravely. 
"  The  reward  of  labor  is  life.  Is  that  not  enough  ?  " 
^^i  But  no  reward  for  specially  good  work," 
quoth  I. 

"  Plenty  of  reward,"  said  he,  —  "  the  reward  of 
creation,  —  the  wages  which  God  gets,  as  people 
might  have  said  time  agone.     If  you  are  going  to 


I 


OE,   AN   EPOCH   OF   KEST.  127 

ask  to  be  paid  for  the  pleasure  of  creation,  which 
is  what  excellence  in  work  means,  the  next  thing 
we  shall  hear  of  will  be  a  bill  sent  in  for  the  be- 
getting of  children." 

"  Well,  but,"  said  I,  "  the  man  of  the  nineteenth 
century  would  say  there  is  a  natural  desire  towards 
the  procreation  of  children,  and  a  natural  desire 
not  to  work." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  he,  "  I  know  the  ancient  plati- 
tude, —  wholly  untrue  ;  indeed,  to  us  quite  mean- 
ingless. Fourier,  whom  all  men  laughed  at, 
understood  the  matter  better." 

"  Why  is  it  meaningless  to  you  ?  "  said  I. 

He  said :  "  Because  it  implies  that  all  work  is 
suffering,  and  we  are  so  far  from  thinking  that, 
that,  as  you  may  have  noticed,  whereas  we  are  not 
short  of  wealth,  there  is  a  kind  of  fear  growing  up 
among  us  that  we  shall  one  day  be  short  of  work. 
It  is  a  pleasure  which  we  are  afraid  of  losing,  not 
a  pain." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  have  noticed  that,  and  I  was 
going  to  ask  you  about  that  also.  But  in  the 
mean  time,  what  do  you  positively  mean  to  assert 
about  the  pleasurableness  of  work  among  you  ? " 

"  This,  that  all  work  is  now  pleasurable  ;  either 
because  of  the  hope  of  gain  in  honor  and  wealth 
with  which  the  work  is  done,  —  which  causes  pleas- 
urable excitement,  even  when  the  actual  work  is 
not  pleasant,  —  or  else  because  it  has  grown  into  a 
pleasurable  habit,  as  in  the  case  with  what  you 
may  call  mechanical  work;  and  lastly  (and  most 
of  our  work  is  of  this  kind)  because  there  is  con- 
scious sensuous  pleasure  in  the  work  itself;  it  is 
done,  that  is,  by  artists." 


128  NEWS   FKOM  NOWHERE; 

"  I  see,"  said  I.  "  Can  you  now  tell  me  how  you 
have  come  to  this  happy  condition  ?  For,  to  speak 
plainly,  this  change  from  the  conditions  of  the 
older  world  seems  to  me  far  greater  and  more 
important  than  all  the  other  changes  you  have 
told  me  about  as  to  crime,  politics,  property, 
marriage." 

"You  are  right  there,"  said  he.  "Indeed,  you 
may  say  rather  that  it  is  this  change  which  makes 
all  the  others  possible.  What  is  the  object  of 
Revolution  ?  Surely  to  make  people  happy.  Rev- 
olution having  brought  its  foredoomed  change 
about,  how  can  you  prevent  the  counter-revolution 
from  setting  in  except  by  making  people  happy  ? 
What!  shall  we  expect  peace  and  stability  from 
unhappiness  ?  The  gathering  of  grapes  from  thorns 
and  figs  from  thistles  is  a  reasonable  expectation 
compared  Avith  that!  And  happiness  without  happy 
daily  work  is  impossible." 

"Most  obviously  true,"  said  I,  —  for  1  thought 
the  old  boy  was  preaching  a  little.  "  But  answer 
my  question,  as  to  how  you  gained  this  happiness." 

"Briefly,"  said  he,  "by  the  absence  of  artificial 
coercion,  and  the  freedom  for  every  man  to  do  what 
he  can  do  besf^  joined  to  the  knowledge  of  what 
productions  of  labor  we  really  wanted.  I  must 
admit  that  this  knowledge  we  reached  slowly  and 
painfully." 

"  Go  on,"  said  I,  "  give  me  more  detail ;  explain 
more  fully.   For  this  subject  interests  me  intensely." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  said  he ;  "  but  in  order  to  do  so  I 
must  weary  you  by  talking  a  little  about  the  past. 
Contrast  is  necessary  for  this  explanation.  Do 
vou  mind  ?  " 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  BEST.  129 

"  No,  no,"  said  I. 

Said  he,  settling  himself  in  his  chair  again  for  a 
long  talk :  "  It  is  clear  from  all  that  we  hear  and 
read,  that  in  the  last  age  of  civilization  men  had 
got  into  a  vicious  circle  in  the  matter  of  production 
of  wares.  They  had  reached  a  wonderful  facility 
of  production,  and  in  order  to  make  the  most  of 
that  facility  they  had  gradually  created  (or  allowed 
to  grow,  rather)  a  most  elaborate  system  of  buying 
and  selling,  which  has  been  called  the  'world- 
market  ; '  and  that  world-market,  once  set  a-going, 
forced  them  to  go  on  making  more  and  more  of 
these  wares,  whether  they  needed  them  or  not. 
So  that  while  (of  course)  they  could  not  free  them- 
selves from  the  toil  of  making  real  necessaries, 
they  created  in  a  never-ending  series  sham  or 
artificial  necessaries,  which  became,  under  the  iron 
rule  of  the  aforesaid  world-market,  of  equal  im- 
portance to  them  with  the  real  necessaries  which 
supported  life.  By  all  this  they  burdened  them-  j 
selves  with  a  prodigious  mass  of  work  merely 
for  the  sake  of  keeping  their  wretched  system  l 
going." 

«  Yes  —  and  then  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Why,  then,  since  they  had  forced  themselves  to 
stagger  along  under  this  horrible  burden  of  unne- 
cessary production,  it  became  impossible  for  them 
to  look  upon  labor  and  its  results  from  any  other 
point  of  view  than  one,  —  to  wit,  the  ceaseless  en- 
deavor to  expend  the  least  possible  amount  of  labor 
on  any  article  made,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  to 
make  as  many  articles  as  possible.  To  this  'cheap- 
ening of  production,'  as  it  was  called,  everything 
was  sacrificed,  —  the  happiness  of  the  workman  at 
9 


130  NEWS  from  nowhere; 

his  work,  nay,  his  most  elementary  comfort  and 
bare  health.  His  food,  his  clothes,  his  dwelling,  his 
leisure,  his  amusement,  his  education,  his  life,  in 
short,  —  did  not  weigh  a  grain  of  sand  in  the  bal- 
ance against  this  dire  necessity  of  'cheap  produc- 
tion '  of  things  a  great  part  of  which  were  not 
worth  producing  at  all.  Nay,  we  are  told,  and  we 
must  believe  it,  so  overwhelming  is  the  evidence, 
though  many  of  our  people  scarcely  can  believe  it, 
that  even  rich  and  powerful  men,  the  masters  of 
the  poor  devils  aforesaid,  submitted  to  live  amid 
sights  and  sounds  and  smells  which  it  is  in  the 
very  nature  of  man  to  abhor  and  flee  from,  in  order 
that  their  riches  might  bolster  up  this  supreme 
folly.  The  whole  community,  in  fact,  was  cast  into 
the  jaws  of  this  ravening  monster,  'the  cheap  pro- 
duction' forced  upon  it  by  the  world-market." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  I.  "  But  what  happened  ?  Did 
not  their  cleverness  and  facility  in  production  mas- 
ter this  chaos  of  misery  at  last  ?  Could  n't  they 
catch  up  with  the  world-market,  and  then  set  to 
work  to  devise  means  for  relieving  themselves  from 
this  fearful  task  of  extra  labor  ?  " 

He  smiled  bitterly.  "  Did  they  even  try  to  ?  " 
said  he.  "  I  am  not  sure.  You  know  that  accord- 
ing to  the  old  saw  the  beetle  gets  used  to  living  in 
dung;  and  these  people,  whether  they  found  the 
dung  sweet  or  not,  certainly  lived  in  it." 

His  estimate  of  the  life  of  the  nineteenth  centmy 
made  me  catch  my  breath  a  little  ;  and  I  said  feebly, 
"  But  the  labor-saving  machines  ?  " 

"  Heyday  !  "  quoth  he.  "  What 's  that  you  are 
saying  ?  the  labor-saving  machines  ?  Yes,  they 
were   made   to   '  save   labor '    (or,   to   speak   more 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  131 

plainly,  the  lives  of  men)  on  one  piece  of  work  in 
order  that  it  might  be  expended  —  I  will  say  wasted 

—  on  another,  probably  useless,  piece  of  work. 
Friend,  all  their  devices  for  cheapening  labor  sim- 
ply resulted  In  increasing  the  burden  of  labor.  The 
appetite  of  the  world-market  grew  with  what  it  fed 
on ;  the  countries  within  the  ring  of  what  was 
called  '  civilization '  (that  is,  organized  misery) 
were  glutted  with  the  abortions  of  the  market,  and 
force  and  fraud  were  used  unsparingly  to  '  open 
up '  countries  outside  that  pale.  This  process  of 
opening  up  is  a  strange  one  to  those  who  have  read 
the  professions  of  the  men  of  that  period  and  do 
not  understand  their  practice ;  and  perhaps  shows 
us  at  its  worst  the  great  vice  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, —  the  use  of  hypocrisy  and  cant  to  evade  the 
responsibility  of  vicarious  ferocity.  When  the 
civilized  world-market  coveted  a  country  not  yet 
in  its  clutches,  some  transparent  pretext  was  found, 

—  the  suppression  of  a  slavery  different  from  and 
not  so  cruel  as  that  of  commerce ;  the  pushing  of 
a  religion  no  longer  believed  in  by  its  promoters  ; 
the  'rescue'  of  some  desperado  or  homicidal  mad- 
man whose  misdeeds  had  got  him  into  trouble  among 
the  natives  of  the  '  barbarous '  country,  —  any  stick, 
in  short,  which  would  beat  the  dog  at  all.  Then 
some  bold,  unprincipled,  ignorant  adventurer  was 
found  (no  difficult  task  in  the  days  of  competition), 
and  he  was  bribed  to  '  create  a  market '  by  break- 
ing up  whatever  traditional  society  there  might  be 
in  the  doomed  country,  and  by  destroying  whatever 
leisure  or  pleasure  he  found  there.  He  forced  wares 
on  the  natives  which  they  did  not  want,  and  took 
their  natural  products  in  /  exchange/  as  this  form 


132  NEWS    FKO.M    NOWHERE; 

of  robbery  was  called,  and  thereby  he  '  created  new- 
wants,'  to  supply  which  (that  is,  to  be  allowed  to 
live  by  their  new  masters)  the  hapless,  helpless 
people  had  to  sell  themselves  into  the  slavery  of 
hopeless  toil  so  that  they  might  have  something 
wherewith  to  purchase  the  nullities  of  civilization.' 
Ah,"  said  the  old  man,  pointing  to  the  Museum, 
"  I  have  read  books  and  papers  in  there  telling 
strange  stories  indeed  of  the  dealings  of  civiliza- 
tion (or  organized  misery)  with  '  non-civilization,'  — 
from  the  time  when  the  British  Government  delib- 
erately sent  blankets  infected  vrith  small-pox  as 
choice  gifts  to  inconvenient  tribes  of  Ked-skins,  to 
the  time  when  Africa  was  infested  by  a  man  named 
Stanley,  who  —  " 

"Excuse  me,"  said  I,  "but  as  you  know,  time 
presses ;  and  I  want  to  keep  our  question  on  the 
straightest  line  possible  ;  and  1  want  at  once  to  ask 
this  about  these  wares  made  for  the  world-market 
—  how  about  their  quality  ?  These  people  who 
were  so  clever  about  making  goods,  I  suppose  they 
made  them  well  ?  " 

"  Quality ! "  said  the  old  man,  crustily  ;  for  he 
was  rather  peevish  at  being  cut  short  in  his  story ; 
"  how  could  they  possibly  attend  to  such  trifles  as 
the  quality  of  the  wares  they  sold  ?  The  best  of 
them  were  of  a  lowish  average,  the  worst  were 
transparent  make-shifts  for  the  things  asked  for, 
which  nobody  would  have  put  up  with  if  they  could 
have  got  anything  else.  It  was  a  current  jest  of 
the  time  that  the  wares  were  made  to  sell  and  not 
to  use,  — a  jest  which  you,  as  coming  from  another 
planet,  may  understand,  but  which  our  folk  could 
not." 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  133 

Said  I :  "  What !  did  they  make  nothing  well  ?  " 

"Why,  yes,"  said  he,  "there  was  one  class  of 
goods  which  they  did  make  thoroughly  well,  and 
that  was  the  class  of  machines  which  were  used 
for  making  things.  These  were  usually  quite  per- 
fect pieces  of  workmanship,  admirably  adapted  to 
the  end  in  view.  So  that  it  may  be  fairly  said 
that  the  great  achievement  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury was  the  making  of  machines  which  were  won- 
ders of  invention,  skill,  and  patience,  and  which 
were  used  for  the  production  of  measureless  quan- 
tities of  worthless  makeshifts.  In  truth,  the  owners 
of  the  machines  did  not  consider  anything  which 
they  made  as  wares,  but  simply  as  means  for  the 
enrichment  of  themselves.  Of  course,  the  only 
admitted  test  of  utility  in  wares  was  the  finding 
of  buyers  for  them, — wise  men  or  fools,  as  it  might 
chance." 

"  And  people  put  up  with  this  ?  "  said  I. 

"  For  a  time,"  said  he. 

"And  then?" 

"And  then  the  overturn,"  said  the  old  man,  smil- 
ing ;  "  and  the  nineteenth  century  saw  itself  as  a 
man  who  has  lost  his  clothes  while  bathing,  and  has 
to  walk  naked  through  the  town." 

"You  are  very  bitter  about  that  unlucky  nine- 
teenth century,"  said  I. 

"  Naturally,"  said  he,  "  since  I  know  so  much 
about  it." 

He  was  silent  a  little,  and  then  said :  "  There 
are  traditions  —  nay,  real  histories  —  in  our  family 
about  it;  my  grandfather  was  one  of  its  victims. 
If  you  know  something  about  it  you  will  under- 
stand what  he  suffered  when  I  tell  you  that  he  was 


134  NEWS    FROM   NOWHERE; 

in  those  days  a  genuine  artist,  a  man  of  genius,  and 
a  revolutionist." 

"  I  think  I  do  understand,"  said  I :  "  but  now,  as 
it  seems,  you  have  reversed  all  this." 

"  Pretty  much  so,"  said  he.  "  The  wares  which 
we  make  are  made  because  they  are  needed.  Men 
make  for  their  neighbors'  use  as  if  they  were  mak- 
ing for  themselves,  not  for  a  vague  market  of  which 
they  know  nothing,  and  over  which  they  can  have 
no  control.  As  there  is  no  buying  and  selling,  it 
would  be  mere  insanity  to  make  goods  on  the 
chance  of  their  being  wanted ;  for  there  is  no 
longer  any  one  who  can  be  compelled  to  buy  them. 
So  that  whatever  is  made  is  good,  and  thoroughly 
fit  for  its  purpose.  Nothing  can  be  made  except 
for  genuine  use ;  therefore  no  inferior  goods  are 
made.  Moreover,  as  aforesaid,  we  have  now  found 
out  what  we  want,  so  we  make  no  more  than  we 
want;  and  as  we  are  not  driven  to  make  a  vast 
quantity  of  useless  things,  we  have  time  and  re- 
sources enough  to  consider  our  pleasure  in  making 
them.  All  work  which  would  be  irksome  to  do  by 
hand  is  done  by  immensely  improved  machinery  ; 
and  in  all  work  which  it  is  a  pleasure  to  do  by 
hand  machinery  is  done  without.  There  is  no 
difficulty  in  finding  work  which  suits  the  special 
turn  of  mind  of  everybody ;  so  that  no  man  is 
sacrificed  to  the  wants  of  another.     From  time  to 

(time,  when  we  have  found  out  that  some  piece  of 
work  was  too  disagreeable  or  troublesome,  we  have 
given  it  up  and  done  altogether  without  the  thing 
produced  by  it.  Now,  surely  you  can  see  that 
under  these  circumstances  all  the  work  we  do  is  an 
exercise  of  the  mind  and  body  more  or  less  pleasant 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  135 

to  be  done  ;  so  that  instead  of  avoiding  work  every- 
body seeks  it ;  and  since  people  have  got  defter  in 
doing  the  work  generation  after  generation,  it  has 
become  so  easy  to  do  that  it  seems  as  if  there 
were  less  done,  though  probably  more  is  produced. 
I  suppose  this  explains  a  certain  fear  of  a  possible 
scarcity  in  work,  which  perhaps  you  have  already 
noticed,  and  which  is  a  feeling  on  the  increase,  and 
has  been  for  a  score  of  years." 

"  But  do  you  think/'  said  I,  "  that  there  is  any 
fear  of  a  work-famine  among  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  said  he,  "  and  I  will  tell  why ; 
it  is  each  man's  business  to  make  his  own  work 
pleasanter  and  pleasanter,  which  of  course  tends 
towards  raising  the  standard  of  excellence,  —  as  no 
man  enjoys  turning  out  work  which  is  not  a  credit 
to  him,  —  and  also  to  greater  deliberation  in  turning 
it  out ;  and  there  is  such  a  vast  number  of  things 
which  can  be  treated  as  works  of  art  that  this 
alone  gives  employment  to  a  host  of  deft  people. 
Again,  if  art  be  inexhaustible,  so  is  science  also  ; 
and  though  it  is  no  longer  the  only  innocent  occu- 
pation which  is  thought  worth  an  intelligent  man 
spending  his  time  upon,  as  it  once  was,  yet  there 
are,  and  I  suppose  will  be,  many  people  who  are 
excited  by  its  conquest  of  difficulties,  and  care  for 
it  more  than  for  anything  else.  Again,  as  more 
and  more  of  pleasure  is  imported  into  work,  I  think 
we  shall  take  up  kinds  of  work  which  produce 
desirable  wares,  but  which  we  gave  up  because  we 
could  not  carry  them  on  pleasantly.  Moreover,  I 
think  that  it  is  only  in  parts  of  Europe  which  are 
more  advanced  than  the  rest  of  the  world  that  you 
will  hear  this  talk  of  the  fear  of  a  work-famine. 


136  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

Those  lands  which  were  once  the  colonies  of  Great 
Britain,  for  instance,  and  especially  America,  —  that 
part  of  it,  above  all,  which  was  once  the  United 
States,  —  are  now  and  will  be  for  a  long  while  a 
great  resource  to  us.  For  these  lands,  and,  I  say, 
especially  the  northern  parts  of  America,  suffered 
so  terribly  from  the  full  force  of  the  last  days  of 
civilization,  and  became  such  horrible  places  to  live 
in,  that  they  are  now  very  backward  in  all  that 
makes  life  pleasant.  Indeed,  one  may  say  that  for 
nearly  a  hundred  years  the  people  of  the  northern 
parts  of  America  have  been  engaged  in  gradually 
making  a  dwelling-place  out  of  a  stinking  dust- 
heap;  and  there  is  still  a  great  deal  to  do,  espe- 
cially as  the  country  is  so  big." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  am  exceedingly  glad  to  think 
that  you  have  such  a  prospect  of  happiness  before 
you.  But  I  should  like  to  ask  a  few  more  ques- 
tions, and  then  I  have  done  for  to-dav." 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  137 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

DINNER     IN     THE     HALL     OF     THE     BLOOMSBURY 
MARKET. 

AS  I  spoke,  I  heard  footsteps  near  the  door ;  the 
latch  yielded,  and  in  came  our  two  lovers, 
looking  so  handsome  that  one  had  no  feeling  of 
shame  in  looking  on  at  their  little-concealed  love- 
making  ;  for  indeed  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  world 
must  be  in  love  with  them.  As  for  old  Hammond, 
he  looked  on  them  like  an  artist  who  has  just 
painted  a  picture  nearly  as  well  as  he  thought  he 
could  when  he  began  it,  and  was  perfectly  happy. 
He  said,  — 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,  young  folk,  and  don't  make 
a  noise.  Our  guest  here  has  still  some  questions 
to  ask  me." 

"  Well,  I  should  suppose  so,"  said  Dick ;  "  you 
have  only  been  three  hours  and  a  half  together; 
and  it  isn't  to  be  hoped  that  the  history  of  two 
centuries  could  be  told  in  three  hours  and  a  half ; 
let  alone  that,  for  all  I  know,  you  may  have 
been  wandering  into  the  realms  of  geography  and 
craftsmanship." 

"  And  as  to  noise,  my  dear  kinsman,"  said  Clara, 
"  you  will  very  soon  be  disturbed  by  the  noise  of 
the  dinner-bell,  which  I  should  think  will  be  very 
pleasant  music  to  our  guest,  who  breakfasted  early, 
it  seems,  and  probably  had  a  tiring  day  yesterday." 


138  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

I  said  :  "  Well,  since  you  have  spoken  the  word, 
I  begin  to  feel  that  it  is  so ;  but  I  have  been  feed- 
ing myself  with  wonder  this  long  time  past ;  really, 
it 's  quite  true,"  quoth  I,  as  I  saw  her  smile,  —  oh, 
so  prettily ! 

But  just  then  from  some  tower  high  up  in  the 
air  came  the  sound  of  silvery  chimes  playing  a 
sweet,  clear  tune,  that  sounded  to  my  unaccustomed 
ears  like  the  song  of  the  first  blackbird  in  the 
spring,  and  called  a  rush  of  memories  to  my  mind, 
some  of  bad  times,  some  of  good,  but  all  sweetened 
now  into  mere  pleasure. 

"No  more  questions  now  before  dinner,"  said 
Clara;  and  she  took  my  hand  as  an  affectionate 
child  would,  and  led  me  out  of  the  room  and  down- 
stairs into  the  forecourt  of  the  Museum,  leaving 
the  two  Hammonds  to  follow  as  they  pleased. 

We  went  into  the  market-place  I  had  been  in 
before,  a  thinnish  stream  of  elegantly  dressed 
people  going  in  along  with  us.  We  turned  into 
the  cloister  and  came  to  a  richly  moulded  and 
carved  doorway,  where  a  very  pretty,  dark-haired 
young  girl  gave  us  each  a  beautiful  bunch  of 
summer  flowers,  and  we  entered  a  hall  much  bigger 
than  that  of  the  Hammersmith  Guest  House,  more 
elaborate  in  its  architecture  and  perhaps  more 
beautiful.  I  found  it  difficult  to  keep  my  eyes  off 
the  wall  pictures  (for  I  thought  it  bad  manners  to 
stare  at  Clara  all  the  time,  though  she  was  quite 
worth  it).  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  their  subjects 
were  taken  from  queer  old-world  myths  and  imag- 

1  "  Elegant,"  I  mean,  as  a  Persian  pattern  is  elegant,  —  not 
like  a  rich,  "elegant"  lady  out  for  a  morning  call.  I  should 
rather  call  that  genteel. 


OK,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  139 

inations  which  in  yesterday's  world  only  about  half 
a  dozen  people  in  the  country  knew  anything  about ; 
and  when  the  two  Hammonds  sat  down  opposite  to 
us  I  said  to  the  old  man,  pointing  to  the  frieze,  — 

"How  strange  to  see  such  subjects  here  ! " 

"  Why  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  don't  see  why  you  should 
be  surprised.  Everybody  knows  the  tales ;  and 
they  are  graceful  and  pleasant  subjects,  not  too 
tragic  for  a  place  where  people  mostly  eat  and  drink 
and  amuse  themselves,  and  yet  full  of  incident." 

I  smiled,  and  said :  "  Well,  I  scarcely  expected 
to  find  record  of  the  '  Seven  Swans '  and  the  '  King 
of  the  Golden  Mountain '  and  '  Faithful  Henry,' 
and  such  curious,  pleasant  imaginations  as  Jacob 
Grimm  got  together  from  the  childhood  of  the 
world,  barely  lingering  even  in  his  time ;  I  should 
have  thought  you  would  have  forgotten  such  child- 
ishness by  this  time." 

The  old  man  smiled,  and  said  nothing ;  but  Dick 
turned  rather  red,  and  broke  out,  — 

"  What  do  you  mean,  guest  ?  I  think  them  very 
beautiful,  —  I  mean  not  only  the  pictures,  but  the 
stories  ;  and  when  we  were  children  we  used  to 
imagine  them  going  on  in  every  wood-end,  by  the 
bight  of  every  stream ;  every  house  in  the  fields 
was  the  Fairyland  King's  House  to  us.  Don't  you 
remember,  Clara  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  said;  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  a 
slight  cloud  came  over  her  fair  face.  I  was  going 
to  speak  to  her  on  the  subject,  when  the  pretty 
waitresses  came  to  us,  smiling,  and  chattering 
sweetly  like  reed  warblers  by  the  river  side,  and 
fell  to  giving  us  our  dinner.  As  to  this,  as  at  our 
breakfast,  everything  was  cooked  and  served  with 


140  NEWS   FKOM   NOWHERE  ; 

a  daintiness  which  showed  that  those  who  had  pre- 
pared it  were  interested  in  it ;  but  there  was  no 
excess  either  of  quantity  or  gourmandise.  Every- 
thing was  simple,  though  so  excellent  of  its  kind ; 
and  it  was  made  clear  to  us  that  this  was  no  feast, 
only  an  ordinary  meal.  The  glass,  crockery,  and 
plate  were  very  beautiful  to  my  eyes,  used  to  the 
study  of  mediseval  art ;  but  a  nineteenth-century 
club-haunter  would,  I  dare  say,  have  found  them 
rough  and  lacking  in  finish,  —  the  crockery  being 
lead-glazed  pot-ware,  though  beautifully  ornament- 
ed; the  only  porcelain  being  here  and  there  a 
piece  of  old  oriental  ware.  The  glass,  again, 
though  elegant  and  quaint,  and  very  varied  in 
form,  was  somewhat  bubbled  and  hornier  in  texture 
than  the  commercial  articles  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. The  furniture  and  general  fittings  of  the 
hall  were  much  of  a  piece  with  the  table  gear, 
beautiful  in  form  and  highly  ornamented,  but  with- 
out the  commercial  "finish"  of  the  joiners  and 
cabinet-makers  of  our  time.  Withal,  there  was  a 
total  absence  of  what  the  nineteenth  century  calls 
"  comfort,"  —  that  is,  stuffy  inconvenience  ;  so 
that,  even  apart  from  the  delightful  excitement  of 
the  day,  I  had  never  eaten  my  dinner  so  pleasantly 
before. 

When  we  had  done  eating,  and  were  sitting  a 
little  while,  with  a  bottle  of  very  good  Bordeaux 
wine  before  us,  Clara  came  back  to  the  question  of 
the  subject-matter  of  the  pictures,  as  though  it 
had  troubled  her.  She  looked  up  at  them,  and  said : 
"  How  is  it  that  though  we  are  so  interested  with 
our  life  for  the  most  part,  yet  when  people  take 
to  writing  poems  or  painting  pictures  they  seldom 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  141 

deal  with  our  modern  life,  or  if  they  do,  take  good 
care  to  make  their  poems  or  pictures  unlike  that 
life  ?  Are  we  not  good  enough  to  paint  ourselves  ? 
How  is  it  that  we  find  the  dreadful  times  of 
the  past  so  interesting  to  us  —  in  pictures  and 
poetry  ?  " 

Old  Hammond  smiled.  "  It  always  was  so,  and 
I  suppose  always  will  be,"  said  he,  "  however  it 
may  be  explained.  It  is  true  that  in  the  nine- 
teenth century,  when  there  was  so  little  art  and 
so  much  talk  about  it,  there  was  a  theory  that  art 
and  imaginative  literature  ought  to  deal  with  con- 
temporary life ;  but  they  never  did  so.  For,  if 
there  was  any  pretence  of  it,  the  author  always 
took  care  (as  Clara  hinted  just  now)  to  disguise, 
or  exaggerate,  or  idealize,  and  in  some  way  or 
another  make  it  strange ;  so  that  for  all  the  veri- 
similitude there  was,  he  might  just  as  well  have 
dealt  with  the  times  of  the  Pharaohs." 

"  Well,"  said  Dick,  "  surely  it  is  but  natural  to 
like  these  things  strange ;  just  as  when  we  were 
children,  as  I  said  just  now,  we  used  to  pretend  to 
be  so-and-so  in  such-and-such  a  place.  That 's  what 
these  pictures  and  poems  do ;  and  why  should  n't 
they  ?  " 

"  Thou  hast  hit  it,  Dick,"  quoth  old  Hammond ; 
"  it  is  the  childlike  part  of  us  that  produces  works 
of  imagination.  When  we  are  children  time  passes 
so  slow  with  us  that  we  seem  to  have  time  for 
everything." 

He  sighed,  and  then  smiled  and  said  :  "  At  least 
let  us  rejoice  that  we  have  got  back  our  childhood 
again.     I  drink  to  the  days  that  are  ! " 

"  Second  childhood,"  said  I  in  a  low  voice,  and 


142  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

then  blushed  at  my  double  rudeness,  and  hoped 
that  he  had  n't  heard.  But  he  had,  and  turned  to  me 
smiling,  and  said :  "  Yes,  why  not  ?  And  for  my 
part  I  hope  it  may  last  long ;  and  that  the  world's 
next  period  of  wise  and  unhappy  manhood,  if  that 
should  happen,  will  speedily  lead  us  to  a  third 
childhood,  —  if  indeed  this  age  be  not  our  third. 
Meantime,  my  friend,  you  must  know  that  we  are 
too  happy,  both  individually  and  collectively,  to 
trouble  ourselves  about  what  is  to  come  hereafter." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Clara,  "  I  wish  we 
were  interesting  enough  to  be  written  or  painted 
about." 

Dick  answered  her  with  some  lover's  speech, 
impossible  to  be  written  down,  and  then  we  sat 
quiet  a  little. 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  143 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HOW   THE   CHANGE   CAME. 

]n\ICK  broke  the  silence  at  last,  saying:  "Guest, 
*-J  forgive  us  for  a  little  after-dinner  dulness. 
What  would  you  like  to  do  ?  Shall  we  have  out 
Greylocks  and  trot  back  to  Hammersmith  ?  or  will 
you  come  with  us  and  hear  some  Welsh  folk  sing 
in  a  hall  close  by  here  ?  or  would  you  like  pres- 
ently to  come  with  me  into  the  City  and  see  some 
really  fine  buildings  ?  or  —  what  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  as  I  am  a  stranger,  I  must  let 
you  choose  for  me." 

In  point  of  fact,  I  did  not  by  any  means  want  to 
be  "  amused  "  just  then ;  and  also  I  rather  felt  as  if 
the  old  man,  with  his  knowledge  of  past  times,  and 
even  a  kind  of  inverted  sympathy  for  them  caused 
by  his  active  hatred  of  them,  was  a  kind  of  blanket 
for  me  against  the  cold  of  this  very  new  world, 
where  I  was,  so  to  say,  stripped  bare  of  every 
habitual  thought  and  way  of  acting ;  and  I  did 
not  want  to  leave  him  too  soon.  He  came  to  my 
rescue  at  once,  and  said,  — 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Dick ;  there  is  some  one  else  to  be 
consulted  besides  you  and  the  guest  here,  and  that 
is  I.  I  am  not  going  to  lose  the  pleasure  of  his 
company  just  now,  especially  as  I  know  he  has 
something  else  to  ask  me.  So  go  to  your  Welsh- 
men, by  all  means ;  but  first  of  all  bring  us  another 


144  NEWS    FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

bottle  of  wine  to  this  nook,  and  then  be  off  as  soon 
as  you  like ;  and  come  again  and  fetch  our  friend 
to  go  westward,  but  not  too  soon." 

Dick  nodded  smilingly,  and  the  old  man  and  I 
were  soon  alone  in  the  great  hall,  the  afternoon 
sun  gleaming  on  the  red  wine  in  our  tall  quaint- 
shaped  glasses.     Then  said  Hammond,  — 

"  Does  anything  especially  puzzle  you  about  our 
way  of  living,  now  you  have  heard  a  good  deal  and 
seen  a  little  of  it  ?  " 

Said  I :  "  I  think  what  puzzles  me  most  is  how 
it  all  came  about." 

"  It  well  may,"  said  he,  "  so  great  as  the  change 
is.  It  would  be  difficult  indeed  to  tell  you  the 
whole  story,  perhaps  impossible ;  knowledge,  dis- 
content, treachery,  disappointment,  ruin,  misery, 
despair,  —  those  who  worked  for  the  change  be- 
cause they  could  see  further  than  other  people 
went  through  all  these  phases  of  suffering ;  and 
doubtless  all  the  time  the  most  of  men  looked 
on,  not  knowing  what  was  doing,  thinking  it  all 
a  matter  of  course,  like  the  rising  and  setting  of 
the  sun;  and  indeed  it  was  so." 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,  if  you  can,"  said  I.  "  Did 
the  change,  the  'revolution'  it  used  to  be  called, 
come  peacefully  ?  " 

"  Peacefully  ?  "  said  he  ;  "  what  peace  was  there 
among  those  poor  confused  wretches  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  ?  It  was  war  from  beginning  to 
end,  —  bitter  war,  till  hope  and  pleasure  put  an 
end  to  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  actual  fighting  with  weapons  ?  " 
said  I,  "  or  the  strikes  and  lock-outs  and  starvation 
of  which  we  have  heard  ?  " 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  145 

"Both,  both,"  he  said.  "As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  history  of  the  terrible  period  of  transition  from 
commercial  slavery  to  freedom  may  thus  be  sum- 
marized. When  the  hope  of  realizing  a  communal 
condition  of  life  for  all  men  arose,  quite  late  in 
the  nineteenth  century,  the  power  of  the  middle 
classes,  the  then  tyrants  of  society,  was  so  enor- 
mous and  crushing  that  to  almost  all  men,  even 
those  who  had,  you  may  say  despite  themselves, 
despite  their  reason  and  judgment,  conceived  such 
hopes,  it  seemed  a  dream.  So  much  was  this  the 
case  that  some  of  those  more  enlightened  men 
who  were  then  called  Socialists,  although  they 
well  knew,  and  even  stated  in  public,  that  the 
only  reasonable  condition  of  society  was  that  of 
pure  Communism  (such  as  you  now  see  around 
you),  yet  shrunk  from  what  seemed  to  them  the 
barren  task  of  preaching  the  realization  of  a  happy 
dream.  Looking  back  now,  we  can  see  that  the 
great  motive-power  of  the  change  was  a  longing 
for  freedom  and  equality,  akin  if  you  please  to 
the  unreasonable  passion  of  the  lover;  a  sickness 
of  heart  that  rejected  with  loathing  the  aimless 
solitary  life  of  the  well-to-do  educated  man  of  that 
time, — phrases,  my  dear  friend,  which  have  lost 
their  meaning  to  us  of  the  present  day,  so  far 
removed  we  are  from  the  dreadful  facts  which 
they  represent. 

"Well,  these  men,  though  conscious  of  this  feel- 
ing, had  no  faith  in  it.  Nor  was  that  wonderful ; 
for  looking  around  them  they  saw  the  huge  mass 
of  the  oppressed  classes  too  much  burdened  with 
the  misery  of  their  lives,  and  too  much  over- 
whelmed by  the  selfishness  of  misery,  to  be  able 
10 


146  NEWS    FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

to  form  a  conception  of  any  escape  from  it  except 
by  the  ordinary  way  prescribed  by  the  system  of 
slavery  under  which  they  lived;  which  was  noth- 
ing more  than  a  remote  chance  of  climbing  out  of 
the  oppressed  into  the  oppressing  classes. 

"Therefore,  though  they  knew  that  the  only 
reasonable  aim  for  those  who  Avould  better  the 
world  was  a  condition  of  equality,  in  their  impa- 
tience and  despair  they  managed  to  convince  them- 
selves that  if  they  could  by  hook  or  by  crook  get 
the  machinery  of  production  and  the  management 
of  property  so  altered  that  the  '  lower  classes '  (so 
the  horrible  word  ran)  might  have  their  slavery 
somewhat  ameliorated,  they  would  be  ready  to  fit 
into  this  machinery,  and  would  use  it  for  bettering 
their  condition  still  more  and  still  more,  until  at 
last  the  result  would  be  a  practical  equality  (they 
were  very  fond  of  using  the  word  '  practical '), 
because  'the  rich'  would  be  forced  to  pay  so 
much  for  keeping  '  the  poor '  in  a  tolerable  condi- 
tion that  the  condition  of  riches  would  become  no 
longer  valuable  and  would  gradually  die  out.  Do 
you  follow  me  ?  " 

"Partly,"  said  I.     "Goon." 

Said  old  Hammond :  "  Well,  since  you  follow  me, 
you  will  see  that  as  a  theory  this  was  not  alto- 
gether unreasonable;  but  'practically,'  it  turned 
out  a  failure." 

«  How  so  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Well,  don't  you  see  ?  "  said  he,  —  "  because  it 
involves  the  making  of  a  machinery  by  those  who 
didn't  know  what  they  wanted  the  machines  to 
do.  So  far  as  the  masses  of  the  oppressed  class 
furthered  this  scheme  of  improvement,  they  did 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  147 

it  to  get  themselves  improved  slave-rations,  —  as 
many  of  them  as  could.  And  if  those  classes  had 
really  been  incapable  of  being  touched  by  that 
instinct  which  produced  the  passion  for  freedom 
and  equality  aforesaid,  what  would  have  happened, 
I  think,  would  have  been  this :  that  a  certain  part 
of  the  working-classes  would  have  been  so  far 
improved  in  condition  that  they  would  have  ap- 
proached the  condition  of  the  middling  rich  men ; 
but  below  them  would  have  been  a  great  class  of 
most  miserable  slaves,  whose  slavery  would  have 
been  far  more  hopeless  than  the  older-class  slavery 
had  been." 

"  What  stood  in  the  way  of  this  ?  "  said  I. 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  he,  "just  that  instinct 
for  freedom  aforesaid.  It  is  true  that  the  slave- 
class  could  not  conceive  the  happiness  of  a  free 
life.  Yet  they  grew  to  understand  (and  very 
speedily  too)  that  they  were  oppressed  by  their 
masters,  and  they  assumed,  you  see  how  justly, 
that  they  could  do  without  them,  though  perhaps 
they  scarce  knew  how ;  so  that  it  came  to  this,  that 
though  they  could  not  look  forward  to  the  happi- 
ness or  the  peace  of  the  freeman,  they  did  at  least 
look  forward  to  the  war  which  should  bring  that 
peace  about." 

"Could  you  tell  me  rather  more  closely  what 
actually  took  place  ?  "  said  I ;  for  I  thought  him 
rather  vague  here. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  can.  That  machinery  of  life 
for  the  use  of  people  who  did  n't  know  what  they 
wanted  of  it,  and  which  was  known  at  the  time  as 
State  Socialism,  was  partly  put  in  motion,  though 
in  a  very  piecemeal  way.     But  it  did  not  work 


148  NEWS  FROM  nowhere; 

smoothly  ;  it  was,  of  course,  resisted  at  every  turn 
by  the  capitalists  ;  and  no  wonder,  for  it  tended 
more  and  more  to  upset  the  commercial  system  I 
have  told  you  of  without  providing  anything  really 
effective  in  its  place.  The  result  was  growing  con- 
fusion, great  suffering  among  the  working-classes, 
and  as  a  consequence,  great  discontent.  For  a  long 
time  matters  went  on  like  this.  The  power  of  the 
upper  classes  had  lessened  as  their  command  over 
wealth  lessened,  and  they  could  not  carry  things 
wholly  by  the  high  hand  as  they  had  been  used  to 
in  earlier  days.  On  the  other  hand  the  working 
classes  were  ill-organized,  and  growing  poorer  in 
reality,  in  spite  of  the  gains  (also  real  in  the  long 
run)  which  they  had  forced  from  the  masters. 
Thus  matters  hung  in  the  balance ;  the  masters 
could  not  reduce  their  slaves  to  complete  subjec- 
tion, though  they  put  down  some  feeble  and  partial 
riots  easily  enough.  The  workers  forced  their 
masters  to  grant  them  ameliorations,  real  or  im- 
aginary, of  their  condition,  but  could  not  force 
freedom  from  them.  At  last  came  a  great  crash. 
On  some  trifling  occasion  a  great  meeting  was  sum- 
moned by  the  workmen  leaders  to  meet  in  Trafal- 
gar Square  (about  the  right  to  meet  in  which  place 
there  had  for  long  been  bickering).  The  civic 
bourgeois  guard  (called  the  police)  attacked  the 
said  meeting  with  bludgeons,  according  to  their 
custom;  many  people  were  hurt  in  the  melee,  of 
whom  five  in  all  died,  either  trampled  to  death  on 
the  spot,  or  from  the  effects  of  their  cudgelling ; 
the  meeting  was  scattered,  and  some  hundred  of 
prisoners  cast  into  jail.  A  similar  meeting  had 
been  treated  in  the  same  way  a  few  days  before  at 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  149 

a  place  called  Manchester,  which  has  now  disap- 
peared. The  whole  country  was  thrown  into  a  fer- 
ment by  this ;  meetings  were  held  which  attempted 
some  rough  organization  for  the  holding  of  another 
meeting  to  retort  on  the  authorities.  A  huge  crowd 
assembled  in  Trafalgar  Square  and  the  neighbor- 
hood (then  a  place  of  crowded  streets),  and  was  too 
big  for  the  bludgeon-armed  police  to  cope  with ; 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  dry-blow  fighting ;  three 
or  four  of  the  people  were  killed,  and  half  a  score 
of  policemen  were  crushed  to  death  in  the  throng, 
and  the  rest  got  away  as  they  could.  The  next 
day  all  London  (remember  what  it  was  in  those 
days)  was  in  a  state  of  turmoil.  Many  of  the  rich 
fled  into  the  country  ;  the  executive  got  together 
soldiery,  but  did  not  dare  to  use  them;  and  the 
police  could  not  be  massed  in  any  one  place,  be- 
cause riots  or  threats  of  riots  were  everywhere. 
But  in  Manchester,  where  the  people  were  not  so 
courageous  or  not  so  desperate  as  in  London,  sev- 
eral of  the  popular  leaders  were  arrested.  In  Lon- 
don a  convention  of  leaders  was  got  together,  and 
sat  under  the  old  revolutionary  name  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safety ;  but  as  they  had  no  or- 
ganized body  of  men  to  direct,  they  attempted  no 
aggressive  measures,  but  only  placarded  the  walls 
with  somewhat  vague  appeals  to  the  workmen 
not  to  allow  themselves  to  be  trampled  upon. 
However,  they  called  a  meeting  in  Trafalgar 
Square  for  the  day  fortnight  of  the  last-men- 
tioned skirmish. 

"Meantime  the  town  grew  no  quieter,  and 
business  came  pretty  much  to  an  end.  The  news- 
papers,—  then,  as  always  hitherto,  almost  entirely 


150  NEWS   FROM    NOWHERE  J 

in  the  hands  of  the  masters,  —  clamored  to  the 
government  for  repressive  measures.  The  rich 
citizens  were  enrolled  as  an  extra  body  of  police, 
and  armed  with  bludgeons  like  them.  Many  of 
these  were  strong,  well-fed,  full-blooded  young 
men,  and  had  plenty  of  stomach  for  fighting;  but 
the  government  did  not  dare  to  use  them,  and  con- 
tented itself  with  getting  full  powers  voted  to  it 
by  the  Parliament  for  suppressing  any  revolt,  and 
bringing  up  more  and  more  soldiers  to  London. 
Thus  passed  the  week  after  the  great  meeting. 
Almost  as  large  a  one  was  held  on  the  Sunday, 
which  went  off  peaceably  on  the  whole,  as  no  op- 
position to  it  was  offered.  But  on  the  Monday  the 
people  woke  up  to  find  that  they  were  hungry. 
During  the  last  few  days  there  had  been  groups 
of  men  parading  the  streets  asking  (or,  if  you 
please,  demanding)  money  to  buy  food;  and  what 
for  good-will,  what  for  fear,  the  richer  people  gave 
them  a  good  deal.  The  authorities  of  the  parishes 
also  (I  have  n't  time  to  explain  that  phrase  at  pres- 
ent) gave  willy-nilly  what  provisions  they  could  to 
wandering  people  ;  and  the  government,  which  had 
by  that  time  established  some  feeble  national  work- 
shops, also  fed  a  good  number  of  half-starved  folk. 
But  in  addition  to  this,  several  bakers'  shops  and 
other  provision  stores  had  been  emptied  without  a 
great  deal  of  disturbance.  So  far,  so  good.  But 
on  the  Monday  in  question,  the  Committee  of  Pub- 
lic Safety,  on  the  one  hand  afraid  of  general  unor- 
ganized  pillage,  and  on  the  other  emboldened  by 
the  wavering  conduct  of  the  authorities,  sent  a 
deputation  provided  with  carts  and  all  necessary 
gear  to  clear  out  two  or  three  big  provision  stores 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  151 

in  the  centre  of  the  town,  leaving  blank  papers 
promising  to  pay  the  price  of  them  with  the  shop 
managers ;  and  also  in  the  part  of  the  town  where 
they  were  strongest  they  took  possession  of  several 
bakers'  shops,  and  set  men  at  work  in  them  for  the 
benefit  of  the  people,  —  all  of  which  was  done  with 
little  or  no  disturbance,  the  police  assisting  in 
keeping  order  at  the  sack  of  the  stores  as  they 
would  have  done  at  a  big  fire. 

"But  at  this  last  stroke  the  reactionaries  were 
so  alarmed  that  they  were  determined  to  force  the 
executive  into  action.  The  newspapers  next  day 
all  blazed  into  the  fury  of  frightened  people,  and 
threatened  the  people,  the  government,  and  every- 
body they  could  think  of,  unless  'order  were  at 
once  restored.'  A  deputation  of  leading  commer- 
cial people  waited  on  the  government,  and  told 
them  that  if  they  did  not  at  once  arrest  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safety,  they  themselves  would 
gather  a  body  of  men,  arm  them,  and  fall  on  'the 
incendiaries,'  as  they  called  them. 

"  They,  together  with  a  number  of  the  newspaper 
editors,  had  a  long  interview  with  the  heads  of  the 
government  and  two  or  three  military  men,  the 
deftest  in  their  art  that  the  country  could  fur- 
nish. The  deputation  came  away  from  that  in- 
terview, says  a  contemporary  eyewitness,  smiling 
and  satisfied,  and  said  no  more  about  raising  an 
anti-popular  army,  but  that  afternoon  left  London 
with  their  families  for  their  country  seats  or 
elsewhere. 

"The  next  morning  the  government  proclaimed 
a  state  of  siege  in  London,  —  a  thing  common 
enough  among  the  absolutist  governments  on  the 


In 2  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

Continent,  but  unheard  of  in  England  in  those 
days.  They  appointed  the  youngest  and  cleverest 
of  their  generals  to  command  the  proclaimed  dis- 
trict, —  a  man  who  had  won  a  certain  sort  of  repu- 
tation in  the  disgraceful  wars  in  which  the  country 
had  long  engaged  from  time  to  time.  The  news- 
papers were  in  ecstacies,  and  all  the  most  fervent 
of  the  reactionaries  now  came  to  the  front,  —  men 
who  in  ordinary  times  were  forced  to  keep  their 
opinions  to  themselves  or  their  immediate  circle, 
but  who  now  began  to  look  forward  to  crushing, 
once  for  all,  the  Socialist,  and  even  democratic  ten- 
dencies, which,  said  they,  had  been  treated  with 
such  indulgence  for  the  last  twenty  years. 

"  But  the  clever  general  took  no  visible  action ; 
and  yet  only  a  few  of  the  minor  newspapers  abused 
him.  Thoughtful  men  gathered  from  this  that  a 
plot  was  hatching.  As  for  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety,  whatever  they  thought  of  their  position, 
they  had  now  gone  too  far  to  draw  back ;  and  many 
of  them,  it  seems,  thought  that  the  government 
would  not  act.  They  went  on  quietly  organizing 
their  food  supply,  which  was  a  miserable  driblet 
when  all  is  said ;  and  also  as  a  retort  to  the  state 
of  siege,  they  armed  as  many  men  as  they  could  in 
the  quarter  where  they  were  strongest,  but  did  not 
attempt  to  drill  or  organize  them,  thinking,  per- 
haps, that  they  could  not  at  the  best  turn  them 
into  trained  soldiers  till  they  had  some  breathing 
space.  The  clever  general,  his  soldiers,  and  the 
police,  did  not  meddle  with  all  this  in  the  least 
in  the  world,  and  things  were  quieter  in  London 
that  week-end ;  though  there  were  riots  in  man3T 
places  of  the  provinces,  which  were  quelled  by  the 


OR,   AN    EPOCH    OF   REST.  153 

authorities  without  much  trouble.  The  most  seri- 
ous of  these  were  at  Glasgow  and  Bristol. 

"Well,  the  Sunday  of  the  meeting  came,  and 
great  crowds  came  to  Trafalgar  Square  in  proces- 
sion, the  greater  part  of  the  Committee  among 
them,  surrounded  by  their  band  of  men  armed 
somehow  or  other.  The  streets  were  quite  peace- 
ful and  quiet,  though  there  were  many  spectators 
to  see  the  procession  pass.  Trafalgar  Square  had 
no  body  of  police  in  it,  the  people  took  quiet  pos- 
session of  it,  and  the  meeting  began.  The  armed 
men  stood  round  the  principal  platform,  and  there 
were  a  few  others  armed  amid  the  general  crowd ; 
but  by  far  the  greater  part  were  unarmed. 

"  Most  people  thought  the  meeting  would  go  off 
peaceably ;  but  the  members  of  the  Committee  had 
heard  from  various  quarters  that  something  would 
be  attempted  against  them ;  but  these  rumors  were 
vague,  and  they  had  no  idea  of  what  threatened. 
They  soon  found  out. 

"  For  before  the  streets  about  the  Square  were 
filled,  a  body  of  soldiers  poured  into  it  from  the 
northwest  corner  and  took  up  their  places  by  the 
houses  that  stood  on  the  west  side.  The  people 
growled  at  the  sight  of  the  red-coats ;  the  armed  men 
of  the  Committee  stood  undecided,  not  knowing 
what  to  do  ;  and  indeed  this  new  influx  so  jammed 
the  crowd  together  that,  unorganized  as  they 
were,  they  had  little  chance  of  working  through  it. 
They  had  scarcely  grasped  the  fact  of  their  ene- 
mies being  there,  when  another  column  of  soldiers, 
pouring  out  of  the  streets  which  led  into  the  great 
southern  road  going  down  to  the  Parliament  House 
(still  existing,  and  called  the  Dung  Market),  and  also 


154  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

from  the  embankment  by  the  side  of  the  Thames, 
marched  up,  pushing  the  crowd  into  a  denser  and 
denser  mass,  and  formed  along  the  south  side  of 
the  Square.  Then  any  of  those  who  could  see  what 
was  going  on,  could  see  at  once  that  they  were  in  a 
trap,  and  could  only  wonder  what  would  be  done 
with  them. 

"The  closely  packed  crowd  would  not  or  could 
not  budge,  except  under  the  influence  of  the 
height  of  terror,  which  was  soon  to  be  supplied  to 
them.  A  few  of  the  armed  men  struggled  to  the 
front,  or  climbed  up  to  the  base  of  the  monument 
which  then  stood  there,  that  they  might  face  the 
wall  of  hidden  fire  before  them ;  and  to  most  men 
(there  were  many  women  among  them)  it  seemed  as 
if  the  end  of  the  world  had  come,  and  to-day  seemed 
strangely  different  from  yesterday.  No  sooner  were 
the  soldiers  drawn  up  as  aforesaid  than,  says  an 
eye-witness,  '  a  glittering  officer  on  horseback  came 
prancing  out  from  the  ranks  on  the  south,  and  read 
something  from  a  paper  which  he  held  in  his  hand ; 
which  something  very  few  heard ;  but  I  was  told 
afterwards  that  it  was  an  order  for  us  to  disperse, 
and  a  warning  that  he  had  legal  right  to  fire  on  the 
crowd  else,  and  that  he  would  do  so.  The  crowd 
took  it  as  a  challenge  of  some  sort,  and  a  hoarse 
threatening  roar  went  up  from  them ;  and  after 
that  there  was  a  comparative  silence  for  a  little,  till 
the  officer  had  got  back  into  the  ranks.  I  was  near 
the  edge  of  the  crowd,  toward  the  soldiers,'  says 
this  eye-witness,  <  and  I  saw  three  little  machines 
being  wheeled  out  in  front  of  the  ranks,  which  I 
knew  for  mechanical  guns.  I  cried  out,  "Throw 
yourselves  down  !  they  are  going  to  fire  !  "    But  no 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  155 

one  scarcely  could  throw  himself  down,  so  tight  as 
the  crowd  were  packed.  I  heard  a  sharp  order 
given,  and  wondered  where  I  should  be  the  next  min- 
ute ;  and  then  —  It  was  as  if  the  earth  had  opened 
and  hell  had  come  up  bodily  amid  us.  It  is  no  use 
trying  to  describe  the  scene  that  followed.  Deep 
lanes  were  mowed  amid  the  thick  crowd  ;  the 
dead  and  dying  covered  the  ground,  and  the  shrieks 
and  wails  and  cries  of  horror  filled  all  the  air,  till 
it  seemed  as  if  there  was  nothing  else  in  the  world 
but  murder  and  death.  Those  of  our  men  who 
were  still  unhurt  cheered  wildly  and  opened  a  scat- 
tered fire  on  the  soldiers.  One  or  two  fell ;  and  I 
saw  the  officers  going  up  and  down  the  ranks  urging 
the  men  to  fire  again ;  but  they  received  the  orders  t 
in  sullen  silence,  and  let  the  butts  of  their  guns  j 
fall.  Only  one  sergeant  ran  to  a  machine-gun  and ' ' 
began  to  set  it  going ;  but  a  tall  young  man  —  an 
officer  too  —  ran  out  of  the  ranks  and  dragged  him 
back  by  the  collar;  and  the  soldiers  stood  there 
motionless,  while  the  horror-stricken  crowd,  nearly 
wholly  unarmed  (for  most  of  the  armed  men  had 
fallen  in  that  first  discharge),  drifted  out  of  the 
Square.  I  was  told  afterwards  that  the  soldiers  on 
the  west  side  had  fired  also,  and  done  their  part 
of  the  slaughter.  How  I  got  out  of  the  Square  I 
scarcely  know;  I  went,  not  feeling  the  ground 
under  me,  what  with  rage  and  terror  and  despair.' 

"So  says  our  eye-witness.  The  number  of  the 
slain  on  the  side  of  the  people  in  that  shooting 
during  a  minute  was  prodigious ;  but  it  was  not 
easy  to  come  at  the  truth  about  it ;  it  was  probably 
between  one  and  two  thousand.  Of  the  soldiers, 
six  were  killed  outright,  and  a  dozen  wounded." 


156  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

I  listened  trembling  with  excitement.  The  old 
man's  eyes  glittered  and  his  face  flushed  as  he 
spoke,  and  told  the  tale  of  what  I  had  often 
thought  might  happen.  Yet  I  wondered  that  he 
should  have  got  so  elated  about  a  mere  massacre, 
and  I  said,  — 

"  How  fearful !  And  I  siippose  that  this  massacre 
put  an  end  to  the  whole  revolution  for  that  time  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  cried  old  Hammond ;  "  it  began  it !  " 

He  filled  his  glass  and  mine,  and  stood  up  and 
cried  out,  "  Drink  this  glass  to  the  memory  of 
those  who  died  there,  for  indeed  it  would  be  a  long 
tale  to  tell  how  much  we  owe  them." 

I  drank,  and  he  sat  down  again  and  went  on. 

"  That  massacre  of  Trafalgar  Square  began  the 
civil  war  ;  though,  like  all  such  events,  it  gathered 
head  slowly,  and  people  scarcely  knew  what  a  crisis 
they  were  acting  in. 

"  Terrible  as  the  massacre  was,  and  hideous  and 
overpowering  as  the  first  terror  had  been,  when 
the  people  had  time  to  think  about  it,  their  feeling 
was  one  of  anger  rather  than  fear,  —  although  the 
military  organization  of  the  state  of  siege  was  now 
carried  out  without  shrinking  by  the  clever  young 
general.  For  though  the  ruling-classes,  when  the 
news  spread  next  morning,  felt  one  gasp  of  horror 
and  even  dread,  yet  the  government  and  their 
immediate  backers  felt  that  now  the  wine  was 
drawn  and  must  be  drunk.  However,  even  the 
most  reactionary  of  the  capitalist  papers,  with  two 
exceptions,  stunned  by  the  tremendous  news,  simply 
gave  an  account  of  what  had  taken  place,  without 
making  any  comment  upon  it.  The  exceptions 
were,  one,  a  so-called  '  liberal '  paper  (the  govern- 


OR,   AN   EPOCH    OF  REST.  157 

merit  of  the  day  was  of  that  complexion),  which, 
after  a  preamble  in  which  it  declared  its  undeviat- 
ing  sympathy  with  the  cause  of  labor,  proceeded 
to  point  out  that  in  times  of  revolutionary  disturb- 
ance it  behooved  the  Government  to  be  just  but 
firm,  and  that  by  far  the  most  merciful  way  of 
dealing  with  the  poor  madmen  who  were  attacking 
the  very  foundations  of  society  (which  had  made 
them  mad  and  poor)  was  to  shoot  them  at  once,  so 
as  to  stop  others  from  drifting  into  a  position  in 
which  they  would  run  a  chance  of  being  shot.  In 
short,  it  praised  the  determined  action  of  the 
government  as  the  acme  of  human  wisdom  and 
mercy,  and  exulted  in  the  inauguration  of  an 
epoch  of  reasonable  democracy  free  from  the  tyran- 
nical fads  of  Socialism. 

"The  other  exception  was  a  paper  thought  to 
be  one  of  the  most  violent  opponents  of  democracy, 
and  so  it  was ;  but  the  editor  of  it  found  his  man- 
hood, and  spoke  for  himself  and  not  for  his  paper. 
In  a  few  simple,  indignant  words  he  asked  people  to 
consider  what  a  society  was  worth  which  had  to  be 
defended  by  the  massacre  of  unarmed  citizens,  and 
called  on  the  government  to  withdraw  their  state 
of  siege  and  put  the  general  and  his  officers  who 
fired  on  the  people  on  their  trial  for  murder.  He 
went  further,  and  declared  that  whatever  his 
opinion  might  be  as  to  the  doctrines  of  the  Social- 
ists, he  for  one  should  throw  in  his  lot  with  the 
people,  until  the  government  atoned  for  their 
atrocity  by  showing  that  they  were  prepared  to 
listen  to  the  demands  of  men  who  knew  what  they 
wanted,  and  whom  the  decrepitude  of  society  forced 
into  pushing  their  demands. 


158  NEWS  from  nowhere; 

"  Of  course,  this  editor  was  immediately  arrested 
by  the  military  power ;  but  his  bold  words  were 
already  in  the  hands  of  the  public  and  produced 
a  great  effect,  —  so  great  an  elf ect  that  the  govern- 
ment, after  some  vacillation,  withdrew  the  state 
of  siege,  though  at  the  same  time  it  strengthened 
the  military  organization  and  made  it  more  strin- 
gent. Three  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  had 
been  slain  in  Trafalgar  Square  ;  of  the  rest,  the 
greater  part  went  back  to  their  old  place  of  meet- 
ing and  there  awaited  the  event  calmly.  They 
were  arrested  there  on  the  Monday  morning,  and 
would  have  been  shot  at  once  by  the  general,  who 
was  a  mere  military  machine,  if  the  government 
had  not  shrunk  before  the  responsibility  of  killing 
men  without  any  trial.  There  was  at  first  a  talk 
of  trying  them  by  a  special  commission  of  judges 
as  it  was  called,  —  i.  e.,  before  a  set  of  men  bound 
to  find  them  guilty,  and  whose  business  it  was  to 
do  so.  But  with  the  government  the  cold  fit  had 
succeeded  to  the  hot  one ;  and  the  prisoners  were 
brought  before  a  jury  at  the  assizes.  There  a 
fresh  blow  awaited  the  government;  for  in  spite 
of  the  judge's  charge,  which  distinctly  instructed 
the  jury  to  find  the  prisoners  guilty,  they  were 
acquitted,  and  the  jury  added  to  their  verdict  a 
presentment,  in  which  they  condemned  the  action 
of  the  soldiery,  in  the  queer  phraseology  of  the 
day,  as  '  rash,  unfortunate,  and  unnecessary.'  The 
Committee  of  Public  Safety  renewed  its  sittings, 
and  from  thenceforth  was  a  rallying-point  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  Parliament.  The  government  now 
gave  way  on  all  sides,  and  yielded  to  the  demands 
of  the  people ;  though  there  was  a  widespread  plot 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  159 

for  effecting  a  coup  d'etat  set  on  foot  between  the 
leaders  of  the  two  so-called  opposing  parties.  The 
well-meaning  part  of  the  public  was  overjoyed,  and 
thought  that  all  danger  of  a  civil  war  was  over. 
The  victory  of  the  people  was  celebrated  by  huge 
meetings  held  in  the  parks  and  elsewhere  in 
memory  of  the  victims  of  the  great  massacre. 

"  But  the  measures  passed  for  the  relief  of  the 
workers,  though  to  the  upper  classes  they  seemed 
ruinously  revolutionary,  were  not  thorough  enough 
to  give  the  people  food  and  a  decent  life,  and  they 
had  to  be  supplemented  by  unwritten  enactments 
without  legality  to  back  them.  Although  the  gov- 
ernment and  Parliament  had  the  law-courts,  the 
army  and  '  society  '  at  their  backs,  the  Committee 
of  Public  Safety  began  to  be  a  force  in  the  country, 
and  really  represented  the  producing  classes.  It 
began  to  improve  immensely  in  the  days  which 
followed  on  the  acquittal  of  its  members.  Its  old 
members  had  little  administrative  capacity,  though 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  self-seekers  and  trai- 
tors, they  were  honest,  courageous  men,  and  many 
of  them  endowed  with  considerable  talent.  But 
now  that  the  times  called  for  immediate  action, 
came  forward  the  men  capable  of  setting  it  on  foot ; 
and  a  great  network  of  workmen's  associations 
grew  up  very  speedily,  whose  avowed  object  was 
the  tiding  over  of  the  ship  of  the  community  into 
a  simple  condition  of  Communism;  and  as  they 
practically  undertook  also  the  management  of  the 
ordinary  labor  war,  they  soon  became  the  mouth- 
piece and  intermediary  of  the  whole  of  the  working- 
classes,  and  the  manufacturing  profit-grinders  now 
found  themselves  powerless   before  this  combina- 


160  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

tion.  Unless  their  committee,  Parliament,  plucked 
up  courage  to  begin  the  civil  war  again,  and  to 
shoot  right  and  left,  they  were  bound  to  yield  to 
the  demands  of  the  men  whom  they  employed, 
and  pay  higher  and  higher  wages  for  shorter  and 
shorter  days'  work.  Yet  one  ally  they  had,  and 
that  was  the  rapidly  approaching  break-down  of 
the  whole  system  founded  on  the  world-market  and 
its  supply ;  which  now  became  so  clear  to  all  peo- 
ple that  the  middle  classes,  shocked  for  the  mo- 
ment into  condemnation  of  the  government  for  the 
great  massacre,  turned  round  nearly  in  a  mass,  and 
called  on  the  government  to  look  to  matters  and 
put  an  end  to  the  tyranny  of  the  Socialist  leaders. 

"Thus  stimulated,  the  reactionist  plot  exploded 
probably  before  it  was  ripe ;  but  this  time  the 
people  and  their  leaders  were  forewarned,  and  be- 
fore the  reactionaries  could  get  under  way  had 
taken  the  steps  they  thought  necessary. 

"  The  Liberal  government  (clearly  by  collusion) 
was  beaten  by  the  Conservatives,  though  the  latter 
were  nominally  much  in  the  minorit}\  The  popu- 
lar representatives  in  the  House  understood  pretty 
well  what  this  meant,  and  after  an  attempt  to  fight 
the  matter  out  by  divisions  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, they  made  a  protest,  left  the  House,  and 
came  in  a  body  to  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety ; 
and  the  civil  war  began  again  in  good  earnest. 

"  Yet  its  first  act  was  not  one  of  mere  fighting. 
The  new  Tory  government  determined  to  act,  yet 
durst  not  re-enact  the  state  of  siege,  but  it  sent  a 
body  of  soldiers  and  police  to  arrest  the  Committee 
of  Public  Safety  in  the  lump.  They  made  no  re- 
sistance, though  they  might  have  done  so,  as  they 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  161 

had  now  a  considerable  body  of  men  who  were 
quite  prepared  for  extremities.  But  they  were  de- 
termined to  try  first  a  weapon  which  they  thought 
stronger  than  street  fighting. 

"The  members  of  the  Committee  went  off  quietly 
to  prison ;  but  they  had  left  their  soul  and  their 
organization  behind  them.  For  they  depended  not 
on  a  carefully  arranged  centre  with  all  kinds  of 
checks  and  counter  checks  about  it,  but  on  a  huge 
mass  of  people  in  thorough  sympathy  with  the 
movement,  officered  by  a  great  number  of  links  of 
small  centres  with  very  simple  instructions.  These 
instructions  were  now  carried  out. 

"  The  next  morning,  when  the  leaders  of  the 
reaction  were  chuckling  at  the  effect  which  the 
report  in  the  newspapers  of  their  stroke  would 
have  upon  the  public  —  no  newspapers  appeared ; 
and  it  was  only  towards  noon  that  a  few  straggling 
sheets,  about  the  size  of  the  gazettes  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  worked  by  policemen,  soldiers, 
managers,  and  press-writers,  were  dribbled  through 
the  streets.  They  were  greedily  seized  on  and 
read ;  but  by  this  time  the  serious  part  of  their 
news  was  stale,  and  people  did  not  need  to  be  told 
that  the  General  Strike  had  begun.  The  rail- 
ways did  not  run,  the  telegraph-wires  were  un- 
served ;  flesh,  fish,  and  green  stuff  brought  to 
market  were  allowed  to  lie  there  still  packed  and 
perishing;  the  thousands  of  middle-class  families, 
who  were  utterly  dependent  for  the  next  meal  on 
the  workers,  made  frantic  efforts  through  their 
more  energetic  members  to  cater  for  the  needs  of 
the  day,  and  among  those  of  them  who  could  throw 
off  the  fear  of  what  was  to  follow,  there  was,  I  am 
11 


162  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

told,  a  certain  enjoyment  of  this  unexpected  picnic, 
—  a  forecast  of  the  days  to  come,  in  which  all 
labor  grew  pleasant. 

"  So  passed  the  first  day,  and  towards  evening 
the  government  grew  quite  distracted.  They  had 
but  one  resource  for  putting  down  any  popular 
movement,  —  to  wit,  mere  brute-force  ;  but  there 
was  nothing  for  them  against  which  to  use  their 
army  and  police  ;  no  armed  bodies  appeared  in  the 
streets ;  the  offices  of  the  federated  workmen 
were  now,  in  appearance  at  least,  turned  into 
places  for  the  relief  of  people  thrown  out  of  work, 
and  under  the  circumstances  they  durst  not  arrest 
the  men  engaged  in  such  work,  —  all  the  more, 
as  even  that  night  many  quite  respectable  people 
applied  at  these  offices  for  relief,  and  swallowed 
down  the  charity  of  the  revolutionists  along  with 
their  supper.  So  the  government  massed  soldiers 
and  police  here  and  there,  —  and  sat  still  for  that 
night,  fully  expecting  on  the  morrow  some  mani- 
festo from  '  the  rebels,'  as  they  now  began  to  be 
called,  which  would  give  them  an  opportunity  of 
acting  in  some  way  or  another.  They  were  dis- 
appointed. The  ordinary  newspapers  gave  up  the 
struggle  that  morning,  and  only  one  very  violent 
reactionary  paper  (called  the  '  Daily  Telegraph ') 
attempted  an  appearance,  and  rated  the  '  rebels  '  in 
good  set  terms  for  their  folly  and  ingratitude  in 
tearing  out  the  bowels  of  their  '  common  mother/ 
the  English  Nation,  for  the  benefit  of  a  few  greedy 
paid  agitators  and  the  fools  whom  they  were  de- 
luding. On  the  other  hand,  the  Socialist  papers 
(of  which  three  only,  representing  somewhat  dif- 
ferent schools,  were  published  in  London)    came 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  163 

out  full  to  the  throat  of  well-printed  matter.  They 
were  greedily  bought  by  the  whole  public,  who,  of 
course,  like  the  government,  expected  a  manifesto 
in  them.  But  they  found  no  word  of  reference  to 
the  great  subject.  It  seemed  as  if  their  editors 
had  ransacked  their  drawers  for  articles  which 
would  have  been  in  place  forty  years  before,  under 
the  technical  name  of  educational  articles.  Most 
of  these  were  admirable  and  straightforward  ex- 
positions of  the  doctrines  and  practice  of  Socialism, 
free  from  haste  and  spite  and  hard  words,  and 
came  upon  the  public  with  a  kind  of  May-day 
freshness,  amid  the  worry  and  terror  of  the  mo- 
ment; and  though  the  knowing  well  understood 
that  the  meaning  of  this  move  in  the  game  was 
mere  defiance,  and  a  token  of  irreconcilable  hos- 
tility to  the  then  rulers  of  society,  and  though, 
also,  they  were  meant  for  nothing  else  by  the  rebels, 
yet  they  really  had  their  effect  as  'educational 
articles.'  However,  'education'  of  another  kind 
was  acting  upon  them  with  irresistible  power,  and 
probably  cleared  their  heads  a  little. 

"As  to  the  government,  they  were  absolutely 
terrified  by  the  act  of  '  boycotting '  (the  slang  word 
then  current  for  such  acts  of  abstention).  Their 
counsels  became  wild  and  vacillating  to  the  last 
degree.  One  hour  they  were  for  giving  way  for  the 
present  till  they  could  hatch  another  plot ;  the 
next  they  all  but  sent  an  order  for  the  arrest  in 
the  lump  of  all  the  workmen's  committees  ;  the 
next  they  were  on  the  point  of  ordering  their  brisk 
young  general  to  take  any  excuse  that  offered  for 
another  massacre.  But  when  they  called  to  mind 
that  the   soldiery   in  that    '  Battle '   of  Trafalgar 


164  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

Square  were  so  daunted  by  the  slaughter  which 
they  had  made  that  they  could  not  be  got  to  fire  a 
second  volley,  they  shrank  back  again  from  the 
dreadful  courage  necessary  for  carrying  out  an- 
other massacre.  Meantime  the  prisoners,  brought 
the  second  time  before  the  magistrates  under  a 
strong  escort  of  soldiers,  were  the  second  time 
remanded. 

"  The  strike  went  on  this  day  also.  The  work- 
men's committees  were  extended,  and  gave  relief 
to  great  numbers  of  people,  for  they  had  organized 
a  considerable  amount  of  production  of  food  by 
men  whom  they  could  depend  upon.  Quite  a  num- 
ber of  well-to-do  people  were  now  compelled  to 
seek  relief  of  them.  But  another  curious  thing 
happened ;  a  band  of  young  men  of  the  upper 
classes  armed  themselves,  and  coolly  went  maraud- 
ing in  the  streets,  taking  what  suited  them  of  such 
eatables  and  portables  as  they  came  across  in  the 
shops  which  had  ventured  to  open.  This  operation 
they  carried  out  in  Oxford  Street,  then  a  great 
street  of  shops  of  all  kinds.  The  government, 
being  at  that  hour  in  one  of  their  yielding  moods, 
thought  this  a  fine  opportunity  for  showing  their 
impartiality  in  the  maintenance  of  '  order,'  and  sent 
to  arrest  these  hungry  rich  youths ;  who,  however, 
surprised  the  police  by  a  valiant  resistance,  so  that 
all  but  three  escaped.  The  government  did  not 
gain  the  reputation  for  impartiality  which  they 
expected  from  this  move  ;  for  they  forgot  that 
there  were  no  evening  papers  ;  and  the  account  of 
the  skirmish  spread  wide  indeed,  but  in  a  distorted 
form,  for  it  was  mostly  told  simply  as  an  exploit 
of  the   starving   people  from   the   East-end ;    and 


OR,  AN  EPOCH   OF  REST.  165 

everybody  thought  it  was  but  natural  for  the  gov- 
ernment to  put  them  down  when  and  where  they 
could. 

"  That  evening  the  rebel  prisoners  were  visited 
in  their  cells  by  very  polite  and  sympathetic  per- 
sons, who  pointed  out  to  them  what  a  suicidal  course 
they  were  following,  and  how  dangerous  these  ex- 
treme courses  were  for  the  popular  cause.  Says 
one  of  the  prisoners :  '  It  was  great  sport  compar- 
ing notes,  when  we  came  out,  anent  the  attempt  of 
the  government  to  "  get  at  "  us  separately  in  prison, 
and  how  we  answered  the  blandishments  of  the 
highly  "  intelligent  and  refined  "  persons  set  on  to 
pump  us.  One  laughed ;  another  told  extravagant 
long-bow  stories  to  the  envoy ;  a  third  held  a  sulky 
silence ;  a  fourth  damned  the  polite  spy  and  bade 
him  hold  his  jaw,  —  and  that  was  all  they  got  out 
of  us.' 

"  So  passed  the  second  day  of  the  great  strike. 
It  was  clear  to  all  thinking  people  that  the  third 
day  would  bring  on  the  crisis  ;  for  the  present 
suspense  and  ill-concealed  terror  were  unendurable. 
The  ruling  classes,  and  the  middle-class  non-poli- 
ticians who  had  been  their  real  strength  and  sup- 
port, were  as  sheep  lacking  a  shepherd ;  they 
literally  did  not  know  what  to  do. 

"  One  thing  they  found  they  had  to  do,  —  try  to 
get  the  '  rebels  '  to  do  something.  So  the  next 
morning,  the  morning  of  the  third  day  of  the 
strike,  when  the  members  of  the  Committee  of 
Public  Safety  appeared  again  before  the  magis- 
trate, they  found  themselves  treated  with  the  great- 
est possible  courtesy,  —  in  fact,  rather  as  envoys 
and   ambassadors   than   prisoners.      In   short,  the 


166  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

magistrate  had  received  his  orders ;  and  with  no 
more  to  do  than  might  come  of  a  long  stupid  speech, 
which  might  have  been  written  by  Dickens  in  mock- 
ery, he  discharged  the  prisoners,  who  went  back  to 
their  meeting-place  and  at  once  began  a  due  sitting. 

"  It  was  high  time.  For  this  third  day  the  mass 
was  fermenting  indeed.  There  was,  of  course,  a 
vast  number  of  working-people  who  were  not  or- 
ganized the  least  in  the  world,  —  men  who  had 
been  used  to  act  as  their  masters  drove  them,  or 
rather  as  the  system  drove,  of  which  their  masters 
were  a,  part.  That  system  was  now  falling  to  pieces, 
and  the  old  pressure  of  the  master  having  been  taken 
off  these  poor  men,  it  seemed  likely  that  nothing 
but  the  mere  animal  necessities  and  passions  of 
men  would  have  any  hold  on  them,  and  that  mere 
general  overturn  would  be  the  result.  Doubt- 
less this  would  have  happened  if  it  had  not  been 
that  the  huge  mass  had  been  leavened  by  Socialist 
opinion  in  the  first  place,  and  in  the  second  by  ac- 
tual contact  with  declared  Socialists,  many  or  in- 
deed most  of  whom  were  members  of  those  bodies 
of  workmen  above  said. 

"If  anything  of  this  kind  had  happened  some 
years  before,  when  the  masters  of  labor  were  still 
looked  upon  as  the  natural  rulers  of  the  people,  and 
even  the  poorest  and  most  ignorant  men  leaned  upon 
them  for  support,  while  they  submitted  to  their  fleec- 
ing, the  entire  break-up  of  all  society  would  have 
followed.  But  the  long  series  of  years  during  which 
the  workmen  had  learned  to  despise  their  rulers  had 
done  away  with  their  dependence  upon  them,  and 
they  were  now  beginning  to  trust  (somewhat  dan- 
gerously, as  events  proved)  in  the  non-legal  leaders 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  167 

whom  events  had  thrust  forward  ;  and  though  most 
of  these  were  now  become  mere  figure-heads,  their 
names  and  reputations  were  useful  in  this  crisis  as 
a  stop-gap. 

"  The  effect  of  the  news,  therefore,  of  the  release 
of  the  Committee  gave  the  government  some  breath- 
ing time ;  for  it  was  received  with  the  greatest  joy 
by  the  workers,  and  even  the  well-to-do  saw  in  it  a 
respite  from  the  mere  destruction  which  they  had 
begun  to  dread,  and  the  fear  of  which  most  of  them 
attributed  to  the  weakness  of  the  government.  As 
far  as  the  passing  hour  went,  perhaps  they  were 
right  in  this." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  I.  "  What  could 
the  government  have  done  ?  I  often  used  to  think 
that  they  would  be  helpless  in  such  a  crisis." 

Said  old  Hammond :  "  Of  course  I  don't  doubt 
that  in  the  long  run  matters  would  have  come  about 
as  they  did.  But  if  the  government  could  have 
treated  their  army  as  a  real  army,  and  used  them 
strategically  as  a  general  would  have  done,  looking 
on  the  people  as  a  mere  open  enemy  to  be  shot  at 
and  dispersed  wherever  they  turned  up,  they  would 
probably  have  gained  the  victory  at  the  time." 

"  But  would  the  soldiers  have  acted  against  the 
people  in  this  way  ?  "  said  I. 

Said  he  :  "I  think  from  all  I  have  heard  that  they 
would  have  done  so  if  they  had  met  bodies  of  men 
armed  however  badly,  and  however  badly  they  had 
been  organized.  It  seems  also  as  if  before  the  Trafal- 
gar Square  massacre  they  might  as  a  whole  have 
been  depended  upon  to  fire  upon  an  unarmed  crowd, 
though  they  were  much  honeycombed  by  Socialism. 
The  reason  for  this  was  that  they  dreaded  the  use 


168  NEWS    FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

by  apparently  unarmed  men  of  an  explosive  called 
dynamite,  of  which  many  loud  boasts  were  made 
by  the  workers  on  the  eve  of  these  events  ;  and  of 
course  the  officers  of  the  soldiers  fanned  this  fear 
to  the  utmost,  so  that  the  rank  and  file  probably 
thought  on  that  occasion  that  they  were  being  led 
into  a  desperate  battle  with  men  who  were  really 
armed,  and  whose  weapon  was  the  more  dreadful 
because  it  was  concealed.  After  that  massacre, 
however,  it  was  at  all  times  doubtful  if  the  regular 
soldiers  would  fire  upon  an  unarmed  or  half-armed 
crowd." 

Said  I :  "  The  regular  soldiers  ?  Then  there 
were  other  combatants  against  the  people  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  we  shall  come  to  that  pres- 
ently." 

"Certainly,"  I  said,  "you  had  better  go  on 
straight  with  your  story.  I  see  that  time  is 
wearing." 

Said  Hammond  :  "  The  government  lost  no  time 
in  coming  to  terms  with  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety,  for,  indeed,  they  could  think  of  nothing  else 
than  the  danger  of  the  moment.  They  sent  a  duly 
accredited  envoy  to  treat  with  these  men,  who 
somehow  had  obtained  dominion  over  people's 
minds,  while  the  formal  rulers  had  no  hold  except 
over  their  bodies.  There  is  no  need  at  present  to 
go  into  the  details  of  the  truce  (for  such  it  was) 
between  these  high  contracting  parties,  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  empire  of  Great  Britain  and  a  hand- 
ful of  working-men  (as  they  were  called  in  scorn  in 
those  days),  —  among  whom,  indeed,  were  some 
very  capable  and  '  square-headed '  persons.  The 
upshot  of  it  was    that  all  the  definite  claims  of  the 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  169 

people  had  to  be  granted.  We  can  now  see  that 
most  of  these  claims  were  of  themselves  not  worth 
either  demanding  or  resisting ;  but  they  were  looked 
on  at  that  time  as  most  important,  and  they  were 
at  least  tokens  of  revolt  against  the  miserable  sys- 
tem of  life  which  was  then  beginning  to  tumble  to 
pieces.  One  claim,  however,  was  of  the  utmost 
immediate  importance,  and  this  the  government 
tried  hard  to  evade ;  but,  as  they  were  not  dealing 
with  fools,  they  had  to  yield  at  last.  This  was  the 
claim  of  recognition  and  formal  status  for  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safety,  and  all  the  associations 
which  it  fostered  under  its  wing.  This,  it  is  clear, 
meant  two  things,  —  first,  amnesty  for  the  '  rebels,' 
great  and  small,  who,  without  a  distinct  act  of  civil 
war,  could  no  longer  be  attacked ;  and  next,  a  con- 
tinuance of  the  organized  revolution.  Only  one 
point  the  government  could  gain,  and  that  was 
a  name.  The  dreadful  revolutionary  title  was 
dropped,  and  the  body,  with  its  branches,  acted 
under  the  respectable  name  of  the  '  Board  of  Con- 
ciliation and  its  Local  Offices.'  Carrying  this  name, 
it  became  the  leader  of  the  people  in  the  civil  war 
which  soon  followed." 

"Oh,"  said  I,  somewhat  startled,  "so  the  civil 
war  went  on,  in  spite  of  all  that  had  happened  ?  " 

"  So  it  was,"  said  he.  "  In  fact,  it  was  this  very 
legal  recognition  which  made  the  civil  war  possible 
in  the  ordinary  sense  of  war ;  it  took  the  struggle 
out  of  the  element  of  mere  massacres  on  one  side, 
and  endurance  plus  strikes  on  the  other." 

"  And  can  you  tell  me  in  what  kind  of  way  the 
war  was  carried  on  ?  "  said  I. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "we  have  records  and  to  spare 


V 


170  NEWS   FROM    NOWHERE  | 

of  all  that,  and  the  essence  of  them  I  can  give  you 
in  a  few  words.  As  I  told  you,  the  rank  and  file 
of  the  army  was  not  to  be  trusted  by  the  reaction- 
ists ;  but  the  officers  generally  were  prepared  for 
anything,  for  they  were  mostly  the  very  stupidest 
men  in  the  country.  Whatever  the  government 
might  do,  a  great  part  of  the  upper  and  middle 
classes  were  determined  to  set  on  foot  a  counter 
revolution ;  for  the  Communism  which  now  loomed 
ahead  seemed  quite  unendurable  to  them.  Bands 
of  young  men,  like  the  marauders  in  the  great 
strike  of  whom  I  told  you  just  now,  armed  them- 
selves and  drilled,  and  began  on  any  opportunity 
or  pretence  to  skirmish  with  the  people  in  the 
streets.  The  government  neither  helped  them  nor 
put  them  down,  but  stood  by,  hoping  that  some- 
thing might  come  of  it.  These  '  Friends  of  Order,' 
as  they  were  called,  had  some  successes  at  first,  and 
grew  bolder.  They  got  many  of  the  officers  of  the 
regular  army  to  help  them,  and  by  their  means  laid 
hold  of  munitions  of  war  of  all  kinds.  One  part  of 
their  tactics  consisted  in  their  guarding,  and  even 
garrisoning  the  big  factories  of  the  period.  They 
held  at  one  time,  for  instance,  the  whole  of  that 
X>lace  called  Manchester,  which  I  spoke  of  just 
now.  A  sort  of  irregular  war  was  carried  on  with 
varied  success  all  over  the  country ;  and  at  last  the 
government,  which  had  at  first  pretended  to  ignore 
the  struggle,  or  treat  it  as  mere  rioting,  definitely 
declared  for  'the  Friends  of  Order,'  and  joined  to 
their  bands  whatsoever  of  the  regular  army  they 
could  get  together,  and  made  a  desperate  effort  to 
overwhelm  <  the  rebels,'  as  they  were  now  once  more 
called,  and  as  indeed  they  called  themselves. 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  171 

"  It  was  too  late.  All  ideas  of  peace  on  a  basis 
of  compromise  had  disappeared  on  either  side. 
The  end,  it  was  seen  clearly,  must  be  either  abso- 
lute slavery  for  all  but  the  privileged,  or  a  system 
of  life  founded  on  equality  and  Communism.  The 
sloth,  the  hopelessness,  and,  if  I  may  say  so,  the 
cowardice  of  the  last  century,  had  given  place  to 
the  eager,  restless  heroism  of  a  declared  revolu- 
tionary period.  I  will  not  say  that  the  people  of 
that  time  foresaw  the  life  we  are  leading  now,  but 
there  was  a  general  instinct  among  them  towards 
the  essential  part  of  that  life,  and  many  men  saw 
clearly  beyond  the  desperate  struggle  of  the  day 
into  the  peace  which  it  was  to  bring  about.  The 
men  of  that  day  who  were  on  the  side  of  freedom 
were  not  unhappy,  I  think,  though  they  were 
harassed  by  hopes  and  fears,  and  sometimes  torn 
by  doubts,  and  the  conflict  of  duties  hard  to 
reconcile." 

"But  how  did  the  people,  the  revolutionists, 
carry  on  the  war  ?  What  were  the  elements  of 
success  on  their  side  ?  " 

I  put  this  question,  because  I  wanted  to  bring 
the  old  man  back  to  the  definite  history,  and  take 
him  out  of  the  musing  mood  so  natural  to  an  old 
man. 

He  answered :  "  Well,  they  did  not  lack  organ- 
izers ;  for  the  very  conflict  itself,  in  days  when,  as 
I  told  you,  men  of  any  strength  of  mind  cast  away 
all  consideration  for  the  ordinary  business  of  life, 
developed  the  necessary  talent  among  them.  In- 
deed, from  all  I  have  read  and  heard,  I  much  doubt 
whether,  without  this  seemingly  dreadful  civil  war, 
the  due  talent  for  administration  would  have  been 


172  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

developed  among  the  working-men.  Anyhow,  it 
was  there,  and  they  had  leaders  far  more  than 
equal  to  the  best  men  among  the  reactionaries. 
For  the  rest,  they  had  no  difficulty  about  the  mate- 
rial of  their  army ;  for  that  revolutionary  instinct 
so  acted  on  the  ordinary  soldier  in  the  ranks  that 
the  greater  part,  certainly  the  best  part,  of  the 
soldiers  joined  the  side  of  the  people.  But  the 
main  element  of  their  success  was  this,  that  wher- 
ever the  working  people  were  not  coerced,  they 
worked,  not  for  the  reactionists,  but  for  '  the 
rebels.'  The  reactionists  could  get  no  work  done 
for  them  outside  the  districts  where  they  were  all- 
powerful  ;  and  even  in  those  districts  they  were 
harassed  by  continual  risings ;  and  in  all  cases  and 
ever}rwhere  got  nothing  done  without  obstruction 
and  black  looks  and  sulkiness  ;  so  that  not  only 
were  their  armies  quite  worn  out  with  the  difficul- 
ties which  they  had  to  meet,  but  the  non-combatants 
who  were  on  their  side  were  so  worried  and  beset 
with  hatred  and  a  thousand  little  troubles  and 
annoyances  that  life  became  almost  unendurable  to 
them  on  those  terms.  Not  a  few  of  them  actually 
died  of  the  worry ;  many  committed  suicide.  Of 
course,  a  vast  number  of  them  joined  actively  in 
the  cause  of  reaction,  and  found  some  solace  to 
their  misery  in  the  eagerness  of  conflict.  Lastly, 
many  thousands  gave  way  and  submitted  to  the 
rebels ;  and  as  the  numbers  of  these  latter  increased, 
it  at  last  became  clear  to  all  men  that  the  cause 
which  was  once  hopeless  was  now  triumphant,  and 
that  the  hopeless  cause  was  that  of  slavery  and 
privilege." 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  173 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    BEGINNING   OF    THE   NEW   LIFE. 

"  T  X  7ELL,"  said  I,  "  so  you  got  clear  out  of  all 

*  *      your  troubles.     Were  people  satisfied  with 
the  new  order  of  things  when  it  came  ?  " 

"  People  ?  "  he  said.  "  Well,  surely  almost  all 
must  have  been  glad  of  peace  when  it  came ;  espe- 
cially when  they  found,  as  they  must  have  found, 
that,  after  all,  they  —  even  the  once  rich  —  were  not 
living  very  badly.  As  to  those  who  had  been  poor 
all  through  the  war,  which  lasted  about  two  years, 
their  condition  had  been  bettering,  in  spite  of  the 
struggle ;  and  when  peace  came  at  last,  in  a  very 
short  time  they  made  great  strides  toward  a  decent 
life.  The  great  difficulty  was  that  the  once  poor 
had  such  a  feeble  conception  of  the  real  pleasure  of 
life ;  so  to  say,  they  did  not  ask  enough,  did  not 
know  how  to  ask  enough,  from  the  new  state  of 
things.  It  was  perhaps  rather  a  good  than  an  evil 
thing  that  the  necessity  for  restoring  the  wealth 
destroyed  during  the  war  forced  them  into  working 
at  first  almost  as  hard  as  they  had  been  used  to 
before  the  Revolution.  For  all  historians  are^ 
agreed  that  there  never  was  a  war  in  which  there 
was  so  much  destruction  of  wares  and  instruments 
for  making  them  as  in  this  civil  war." 

"  I  am  rather  surprised  at  that,"  said  I. 

"  Are  you  ?     I  don't  see  why,"  said  Hammond. 


174  NEWS   FROM  NOWHERE; 

"  Why,"  I  said,  "  because  the  party  of  order  would 
surely  look  upon  the  wealth  as  their  own  property, 
no  share  of  which,  if  they  could  help  it,  should  go 
to  their  slaves,  supposing  they  conquered.  And  on 
the  other  hand,  it  was  just  for  the  possession  of 
that  wealth  that  the  '  rebels '  were  fighting ;  and  I 
should  have  thought,  especially  when  they  saw  that 
they  were  winning,  that  they  would  have  been 
careful  to  destroy  as  little  as  possible  of  what  was 
so  soon  to  be  their  own." 

"  It  was  as  I  have  told  you,  however,"  said  he. 
"  The  party  of  order,  when  they  recovered  from 
their  first  cowardice  of  surprise,  —  or,  if  you  please, 
when  they  fairly  saw  that,  whatever  happened, 
they  would  be  ruined,  fought  with  great  bitterness, 
and  cared  little  what  they  did,  so  long  as  they  in- 
jured the  enemies  who  had  destroyed  the  sweets 
of  life  for  them.  As  to  the  rebels,  I  have  told 
you  that  the  outbreak  of  actual  war  made  them 
careless  of  trying  to  save  the  wretched  scraps  of 
wealth  that  they  had.  It  was  a  common  saying 
among  them,  '  Let  the  country  be  cleared  of  every- 
thing except  valiant  living  men,  rather  than  that 
we  fall  into  slavery  again  ! '  " 

He  sat  silently  thinking  a  while,  and  then  said : 
"  Don't  you  see  what  it  means  ?  In  the  times 
which  you  are  thinking  of,  and  of  which  you  seem 
to  know  so  much,  there  was  no  hope ;  nothing  but 
the  dull  jog  of  the  mill-horse  under  compulsion  of 
collar  and  whip;  but  in  that  fighting-time  that 
followed  all  was  hope;  the  rebels  at  least  felt 
themselves  strong  enough  to  build  up  the  world 
again  from  its  dry  bones,  —  and  they  did  it  too  ! " 
said  the   old   man,  his  eyes   glittering   under  his 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  175 

beetling  brows.  He  went  on  :  "  And  their  oppo- 
nents, at  least  and  at  last,  learned  something  about 
the  reality  of  life,  and  its  sorrows,  which  they  — 
their  class,  I  mean  —  had  once  known  nothing  of. 
In  short,  the  two  combatants,,  the  workman  and  the 
gentleman,  between  them  —  " 

"  Between  them,"  said  I,  quickly,  "  they  de- 
stroyed commercialism  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes  ! "  said  he  ;  "  that  is  it.  Nor  could 
it  have  been  destroyed  otherwise  ;  except,  perhaps, 
by  the  whole  of  society  gradually  falling  into  lower 
depths,  till  it  should  at  last  reach  a  condition  as 
rude  as  barbarism,  but  lacking  both  the  hope  and 
the  pleasures  of  barbarism.  Surely  the  sharper, 
shorter  remedy  was  the  happiest." 

"  Most  surely,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "  the  world  was  being 
brought  to  its  second  birth ;  how  could  that  take 
place  without  a  tragedy.  Moreover,  think  of  it. 
The  spirit  of  the  new  days,  of  our  days,  was  to  be 
delight  in  the  life  of  the  world ;  intense  and  almost 
overweening  love  of  the  very  skin  and  surface  of 
the  earth  on  which  man  dwells,  such  as  a  lover  has 
in  the  fair  flesh  of  the  woman  he  loves ;  this,  I  say, 
was  to  be  the  new  spirit  of  the  time.  All  other 
moods  save  this  had  been  exhausted ;  the  unceasing 
criticism,  the  boundless  curiosity  in  the  ways  and 
thoughts  of  man,' which  was  the  mood  of  the  an- 
cient Greek,  to  whom  these  things  were  not  so 
much  a  means  as  an  end,  was  gone  past  recovery ; 
nor  had  there  been  really  any  shadow  of  it  in  the 
so-called  science  of  the  nineteenth  century,  which, 
as  you  must  know,  was  in  the  main  an  appendage 
to  the  commercial  system,  —  nay,  not  seldom  an 


176  NEWS  from  nowhere; 

appendage  to  the  police  of  that  system.  In  spite 
of  appearances,  it  was  limited  and  cowardly,  be- 
cause it  did  not  really  believe  in  itself.  It  was  the 
outcome,  as  it  was  the  sole  relief,  of  the  unhappi- 
ness  of  the  period  which  made  life  so  bitter  even 
to  the  rich,  and  which,  as  you  may  see  with  your 
bodily  eyes,  the  great  change  has  swept  away. 
More  akin  to  our  way  of  looking  at  life  is  the  spirit 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  to  whom  heaven  and  the  life 
of  the  next  world  was  such  a  reality  that  it  became 
to  them  a  part  of  the  life  upon  the  earth ;  which 
accordingly  they  loved  and  adorned,  in  spite  of  the 
ascetic  doctrines  of  their  creed,  which  bade  them 
contemn  it. 

"  But  that  also,  with  its  assured  belief  in  heaven 
and  hell  as  two  countries  in  which  to  live,  has  gone, 
and  now  we  do,  both  in  word  and  in  deed,  believe 
in  the  continuous  life  of  the  world  of  men,  and  as 
it  were,  add  every  day  of  that  common  life  to  the 
little  stock  of  days  which  our  own  mere  individual 
experience  wins  for  us  ;  and  consequently  we  are 
happy.  Do  you  wonder  at  it  ?  In  times  past, 
indeed,  men  were  told  to  love  their  kind,  to  believe 
in  the  religion  of  humanity,  and  so  forth.  But 
look  you  ;  just  in  the  degree  that  a  man  had  eleva- 
tion of  mind  and  refinement  enough  to  be  able  to 
value  this  idea,  was  he  repelled  by  the  obvious 
aspect  of  the  individuals  composing  the  mass  which 
he  was  to  worship,  and  could  only  evade  that  repul- 
sion by  making  a  conventional  abstraction  of  man- 
kind that  had  little  actual  or  historical  relation  to 
the  race,  which  to  his  eyes  was  divided  into  blind 
tyrants  on  the  one  hand  and  apathetic  degraded 
slaves  on  the  other.     But  now,  where  is  the  diffi- 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  177 

culty  in  accepting  the  religion  of  humanity  when 
the  men  and  women  who  go  to  make  up  humanity 
are  free,  happy,  and  energetic  at  least,  and  most 
commonly  beautiful  of  body  also,  and  surrounded 
by  beautiful  things  of  their  own  fashioning,  and  a 
nature  bettered  and  not  worsened  by  contact  with 
mankind.  This  is  what  this  age  of  the  world  has 
reserved  for  us." 

"  It  seems  true,"  said  I,  "  or  ought  to  be,  if  what 
my  eyes  have  seen  is  a  token  of  the  general  life 
you  lead.  Can  you  now  tell  me  anything  of  your 
progress  after  the  years  of  the  struggle  ?  " 

Said  he  :  "  I  could  easily  tell  you  more  than  you 
have  time  to  listen  to ;  but  I  can  at  least  hint  at 
one  of  the  chief  difficulties  which  had  to  be  met ; 
and  that  was  that  when  men  began  to  settle  down 
after  the  war,  and  their  labor  had  pretty  much 
filled  up  the  gap  in  wealth  caused  by  the  destruc- 
tion of  that  war,  a  kind  of  disappointment  seemed 
coming  over  us,  and  the  prophecies  of  some  of  the 
reactionists  of  past  times  seemed  as  if  they  would 
come  true,  and  a  dull  level  of  utilitarian  comfort  be 
the  end  for  a  while  of  our  aspirations  and  success. 
The  loss  of  the  competitive  spur  to  exertion  had 
not,  indeed,  done  anything  to  interfere  with  the 
necessary  production  of  the  community  ;  but  how  if 
it  should  make  men  dull  by  giving  them  too  much 
time  for  thought  or  idle  musing  ?  But,  after  all, 
this  dull  thunder-cloud  only  threatened  us,  and 
then  passed  over.  Probably,  from  what  I  have 
told  you  before,  you  will  have  a  guess  at  the 
remedy  for  such  a  disaster ;  remembering  always 
that  many  of  the  things  which  used  to  be  produced 
—  slave-wares  for  the  poor,  and  mere  wealth- wasting 
12 


178  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

wares  for  the  rich  —  ceased  to  be  made.  That 
remedy  was,  in  short,  the  production  of  what  used 
to  be  called  art,  but  which  has  no  name  among  us 
now,  because  it  has  become  a  necessary  part  of  the 
labor  of  every  man  who  produces." 

Said  I :  "  What !  had  men  any  time  or  oppor- 
tunity for  cultivating  the  fine  arts  amid  the 
desperate  struggle  for  life  and  freedom  that  you 
have  told  me  of  ?  " 

Said  Hammond :  "  You  must  not  suppose  that 
the  new  form  of  art  was  founded  chiefly  on  the 
memory  of  the  art  of  the  past;  although,  strange 
to  say,  the  civil  war  was  much  less  destructive  of 
art  than  of  other  things,  and  although  what  of  art 
existed  under  the  old  forms  revived  in  a  wonderful 
way  during  the  latter  part  of  the  struggle,  espe- 
cially as  regards  music  and  poetry.  The  art  or  work- 
pleasure,  as  one  ought  to  call  it,  of  which  I  am  now 
speaking,  sprung  up  almost  spontaneously,  it  seems, 
from  a  kind  of  instinct  among  people,  no  longer 
driven  desperately  to  painful  and  terrible  over- 
work, to  do  the  best  they  could  with  the  work  in 
hand,  —  to  make  it  excellent  of  its  kind ;  and  when 
that  had  gone  on  for  a  little,  a  craving  for  beauty 
seemed  to  awaken  in  men's  minds,  and  they  began 
rudely  and  awkwardly  to  ornament  the  wares  which 
they  made ;  and  when  they  had  once  set  to  work  at 
that,  it  soon  began  to  grow.  All  this  was  much 
helped  by  the  abolition  of  the  squalor  our  imme- 
diate ancestors  put  up  with  so  coolly,  and  by  the 
leisurely  but  not  stupid  country-life  which  now 
grew  (as  I  told  you  before)  to  be  common  among 
us.  Thus  at  last  and  by  slow  degrees  we  got 
pleasure  into  our  work ;  then,  we  became  conscious 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  179 

of  that  pleasure,  and  cultivated  it,  and  took  care 
that  we  had  our  fill  of  it ;  and  then  all  was  gained, 
and  we  were  happy.  So  may  it  be  for  ages  and 
ages ! " 

The  old  man  fell  into  a  reverie,  not  altogether 
without  melancholy,  I  thought ;  but  I  would  not 
break  it.  Suddenly  he  started,  and  said  :  "  Well, 
dear  guest,  here  are  come  Dick  and  Clara  to  fetch 
you  away,  and  there  is  an  end  of  my  talk ;  which  I 
dare  say  you  will  not  be  sorry  for ;  the  long  day  is 
coming  to  an  end,  and  you  will  have  a  pleasant 
ride  back  to  Hammersmith." 


180  NKWS   FROM   NOWHERE-, 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    DRIVE    BACK    TO    HAMMERSMITH. 

I  SAID  nothing,  for  I  was  not  inclined  for  mere 
politeness  to  him  after  such  very  serious  talk ; 
but  in  fact  I  should  like  to  have  gone  on  talking 
with  the  older  man,  who  could  understand  some- 
thing at  least  of  my  wonted  ways  of  looking  at  life, 
whereas  with  the  younger  people,  in  spite  of  all 
their  kindness,  I  really  was  a  being  from  another 
planet.  However,  I  made  the  best  of  it,  and  smiled 
as  amiably  as  I  could  on  the  young  couple ;  and 
Dick  returned  the  smile  by  saying :  "  Well,  guest, 
I  am  glad  to  have  you  again,  and  to  find  that  you 
and  my  kinsman  have  not  quite  talked  yourselves 
into  another  world.  I  was  half  suspecting  as  I  was 
listening  to  the  Welshmen  yonder  that  you  would 
presently  be  vanishing  away  from  us,  and  began  to 
picture  my  kinsman  sitting  staring  in  the  hall  at 
nothing,  and  finding  that  he  had  been  talking  a 
while  past  to  nobody." 

I  felt  rather  uncomfortable  at  this  speech,  for 
suddenly  the  picture  of  the  sordid  squabble,  the 
dirty  and  miserable  tragedy  of  the  life  I  had  left 
for  a  while,  came  before  my  eyes ;  and  I  had  as  it 
were  a  vision  of  all  my  longings  for  rest  and 
peace  in  the  past,  and  I  loathed  the  idea  of  going 
back  to  it  again.  But  the  old  man  chuckled  and 
said,  — 


OR,    AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  181 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Dick.  In  any  case,  I  have  not 
been  talking  to  thin  air ;  nor,  indeed,  to  this  new 
friend  of  ours  only.  Who  knows  but  I  may  not 
have  been  talking  to  many  people  ?  For  perhaps 
our  guest  may  some  day  go  back  to  the  people  he 
has  come  from,  and  may  take  a  message  from  us 
which  may  bear  fruit  for  them,  and  consequently 
for  us." 

Dick  looked  puzzled,  and  said:  "Well,  gaffer,  I 
do  not  quite  understand  what  you  mean.  All  I  can 
say  is,  that  I  hope  he  will  not  leave  us ;  for  don't 
you  see,  he  is  another  kind  of  man  to  what  we  are 
used  to,  and  somehow  he  makes  us  think  of  all 
kinds  of  things ;  and  already  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
understand  Dickens  the  better  for  having  talked 
with  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Clara,  "  and  I  think  in  a  few  months 
we  shall  make  him  look  younger ;  and  I  should  like 
to  see  what  he  was  like  with  the  wrinkles  smoothed 
out  of  his  face.  Don't  you  think  he  will  look 
younger  after  a  little  time  with  us  ?  " 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  and  looked  earnestly 
at  me,  but  did  not  answer  her,  and  for  a  minute  or 
two  we  were  all  silent.     Then  Clara  broke  out,  — 

"  Kinsman,  I  don't  like  this ;  something  or  an- 
other troubles  me,  and  I  feel  as  if  something 
untoward  were  going  to  happen.  You  have  been 
talking  of  past  miseries  to  the  guest,  and  have 
been  living  in  past  unhappy  times,  and  it's  in 
the  air  all  round  us,  and  makes  us  feel  as  if  we 
were  longing  for  something  that  we  cannot  have." 

The  old  man  smiled  on  her  kindly,  and  said: 
"Well,  my  child,  if  that  is  so,  go  and  live  in  the 
present,  and  you  will  soon  shake  it  off."     Then  he 


182  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

turned  to  me,  and  said:  "Do  you  remember  any- 
thing like  that,  guest,  in  the  country  from  which 
you  come  ?  " 

The  lovers  had  turned  aside  now,  and  were  talk- 
ing together  softly,  and  not  heeding  us ;  so  I  said, 
but  in  a  low  voice :  "  Yes,  when  I  was  a  happy 
child  on  a  sunny  holiday,  and  had  everything  that 
I  could  think  of." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  he.  "  You  remember  just  now 
you  twitted  me  with  living  in  the  second  child- 
hood of  the  world.  You  will  find  it  a  happy 
world  to  live  in ;  you  will  be  happy  there  —  for 
a  while." 

Again  I  did  not  like  his  scarcely  veiled  threat, 
and  was  beginning  to  trouble  myself  with  trying 
to  remember  how  I  had  got  among  this  curious 
people,  when  the  old  man  called  out  in  a  cheery 
voice :  "  Now,  my  children,  take  your  guest  away, 
and  make  much  of  him ;  for  it  is  your  business  to 
make  him  sleek  of  skin  and  peaceful  of  mind ;  he 
has  by  no  means  been  as  lucky  as  you  have.  Fare- 
well, guest !  "  and  he  grasped  my  hand  warmly. 

"Good-by,"  said  I,  "and  thank  you  very  much 
for  all  that  you  have  told  me.  I  will  come  and  see 
you  as  soon  as  I  come  back  to  London.     May  1  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "come  by  all  means  —  if  you 
can." 

"  It  won't  be  for  some  time  yet,"  quoth  Dick,  in 
his  cheery  voice  ;  "  for  when  the  hay  is  in  up  the 
river,  I  shall  be  for  taking  him  a  round  through 
the  country  between  hay  and  wheat  harvest,  to  see 
how  our  friends  live  in  the  north  country.  Then 
in  the  wheat-harvest  we  shall  do  a  good  stroke  of 
work,  I  should  hope,  —  iu  Wiltshire  by  preference ; 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  183 

for  lie  will  be  getting  a  little  hard  with  all  the 
open-air  living,  and  I  shall  be  as  tough  as  nails." 

"  But  you  will  take  me  along,  won't  you, 
Dick  ?  "  said  Clara,  laying  her  pretty  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  Will  I  not  ?  "  said  Dick,  somewhat  boisterously. 
"  And  we  will  manage  to  send  you  to  bed  pretty 
tired  every  night ;  and  you  will  look  so  beautiful 
with  your  neck  all  brown,  and  your  hands  too,  and 
you  under  your  gown  as  white  as  privet ;  that  will 
get  some  of  those  strange  discontented  whims  out 
of  your  head,  my  dear.  However,  our  week's  hay- 
making will  do  all  that  for  you." 

The  girl  reddened  very  prettily,  not  for  shame 
but  for  pleasure ;  and  the  old  man  laughed,  and 
said, — 

"  Guest,  I  see  that  you  will  be  as  comfortable  as 
need  be  ;  for  you  need  not  fear  that  those  two  will 
be  too  officious  with  you.  They  will  be  so  busy  with 
each  other  that  they  will  leave  you  a  good  deal  to 
yourself,  I  am  sure ;  and  that  is  real  kindness  to  a 
guest,  after  all.  Oh,  you  need  not  be  afraid  of 
being  one  too  many,  either ;  it  is  just  what  these 
birds  in  a  nest  like,  to  have  a  good  convenient 
friend  to  turn  to,  so  that  they  may  relieve  the 
ecstasies  of  love  with  the  solid  commonplace  of 
friendship.  Besides,  Dick,  and  much  more  Clara, 
likes  a  little  talking  at  times  ;  and  you  know  lovers 
do  not  talk  unless  they  get  into  trouble,  they  only 
prattle.     Good-by,  guest ;  may  you  be  happy  !  " 

Clara  went  up  to  old  Hammond,  threw  her  arms 
about  his  neck  and  kissed  him  heartily,  and  said : 
"  You  are  a  dear  old  man,  and  may  have  your  jest 
about  me  as  much  as  you  please ;  and  it  won't  be 


184  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

long  before  we  see  you  again ;  and  you  may  be 
sure  we  shall  make  our  guest  happy ;  though,  mind 
you,  there  is  some  truth  in  what  you  say." 

Then  I  shook  hands  again,  and  we  went  out  of 
the  hall  and  into  the  cloisters,  and  so  in  the  street 
found  Greylocks  in  the  shafts  waiting  for  us. 
He  was  well  looked  after;  for  a  little  lad  about 
seven  years  old  had  his  hand  on  the  rein  and  was 
solemnly  looking  up  into  his  face ;  on  his  back, 
withal,  was  a  girl  of  fourteen,  holding  a  three-year- 
old  sister  on  before  her,  while  another  girl,  about 
a  year  older  than  the  boy,  hung  on  behind.  The 
three  were  occupied  partly  with  eating  cherries, 
partly  with  patting  and  punching  Greylocks,  who 
took  all  their  caresses  in  good  part,  but  pricked  up 
his  ears  when  Dick  made  his  appearance.  The 
girls  got  off  quietly,  and  going  up  to  Clara  made 
much  of  her  and  snuggled  up  to  her.  And  then  we 
got  into  the  carriage,  Dick  shook  the  reins,  and  we 
got  under  way  at  once,  Greylocks  trotting  soberly 
between  the  lovely  trees  of  the  London  streets,  that 
were  sending  floods  of  fragrance  into  the  cool  even- 
ing air,  for  it  was  now  getting  toward  sunset. 

We  could  hardly  go  but  fair  and  softly  all  the 
way,  as  there  were  a  great  many  people  abroad  in 
that  cool  hour.  Seeing  so  many  people  made  me 
notice  their  looks  the  more ;  and  I  must  say,  my 
taste,  cultivated  in  the  sombre  grayness,  or  rather 
brownness,  of  the  nineteenth  century,  was  rather 
apt  to  condemn  the  gayety  and  brightness  of  the 
raiment ;  and  I  even  ventured  to  say  as  much  to 
Clara.  She  seemed  rather  surprised,  and  even 
slightly  indignant,  and  said :  "  Well,  well,  what 's 
the  matter  ?     They  are  not  about  any  dirty  work ; 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  185 

they  are  only  amusing  themselves  in  the  fine 
evening;  there  is  nothing  to  foul  their  clothes. 
Come,  does  n't  it  all  look  very  pretty  ?  It  is  n't 
gaudy,  you  know." 

Indeed  that  was  true;  for  many  of  the  people 
were  clad  in  colors  that  were  sober  enough,  though 
beautiful,  and  the  harmony  of  the  colors  was  per- 
fect and  most  delightful. 

I  said,  "  Yes,  that  is  so ;  but  how  can  every- 
body afford  such  costly  garments  ?  Look !  there 
goes  a  middle-aged  man  in  a  sober  gray  dress ; 
but  I  can  see  from  here  that  it  is  made  of 
very  fine  woollen  stuff,  and  is  covered  with  silk 
embroidery." 

Said  Clara:  "He  could  wear  shabby  clothes  if 
he  pleased,  —  that  is,  if  he  did  n't  think  he  would 
hurt  people's  feelings  by  doing  so." 

"But  please  tell  me,"  said  I,  "how  can  they 
afford  it?" 

As  soon  as  I  had  spoken  I  perceived  that  I  had 
got  back  to  my  old  blunder,  for  I  saw  Dick's 
shoulders  shaking  with  laughter  ;  but  he  would  n't 
say  a  word,  but  handed  me  over  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  Clara,  who  said,  — 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  Of  course 
we  can  afford  it,  or  else  we  should  n't  do  it.  It 
would  be  easy  enough  for  us  to  say,  We  will  only 
spend  our  labor  on  making  our  clothes  comfortable  ; 
but  we  don't  choose  to  stop  there.  Why  do  you 
find  fault  with  us  ?  Does  it  seem  to  you  as  if  we 
starved  ourselves  of  food  in  order  to  make  our- 
selves fine  clothes  ?  or  do  you  think  there  is  any- 
thing wrong  in  liking  to  see  the  coverings  of  our 
bodies  beautiful  like  our  bodies  are?  —  just  as  a 


186  NEWS   FKOM   NOWHERE; 

deer's  or  an  otter's  skin  has  been  made  beautiful 
from  the  first.     Come,  what  is  wrong  with  you  ?  " 

I  bowed  before  the  storm,  and  mumbled  out 
some  excuse  or  other.  I  must  say,  I  might  have 
known  that  people  who  were  so  fond  of  architect- 
ure generally  would  not  be  backward  in  ornament- 
ing themselves  ;  all  the  more  as  the  shape  of  their 
raiment,  apart  from  its  color,  was  both  beautiful 
and  reasonable,  —  veiling  the  form  without  either 
muffling  or  caricaturing  it. 

Clara  was  soon  mollified  ;  and  as  we  drove  along 
toward  the  wood  before  mentioned,  she  said  to 
Dick,  — 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Dick  ;  now  that  kinsman  Ham- 
mond the  elder  has  seen  our  guest  in  his  queer 
clothes,  I  think  we  ought  to  find  him  something 
decent  to  put  on  for  our  journey  to-morrow ;  espe- 
cially since,  if  we  don't,  we  shall  have  to  answer 
all  sorts  of  questions  as  to  his  clothes  and  where 
they  came  from.  Besides,"  she  said,  slyly,  "  when 
he  is  clad  in  handsome  garments  he  will  not  be  so 
quick  to  blame  us  for  our  childishness  in  wasting 
our  time  in  making  ourselves  look  pleasant  to  each 
other." 

"  All  right,  Clara,"  said  Dick ;  "  he  shall  have 
everything  that  you  —  that  he  wants  to  have.  I 
will  look  something  out  for  him  before  he  gets  up 
to-morrow." 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF    REST.  187 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    HAMMERSMITH    GUEST-HOUSE    AGAIN". 

A  MID  such  talk,  driving  quietly  through  the 
■*"*•  balmy  evening,  we  came  to  Hammersmith, 
and  were  well  received  by  our  friends  there. 
Boffin,  in  a  fresh  suit  of  clothes,  welcomed  me 
back  with  stately  courtesy ;  the  weaver  wanted  to 
button-hole  me  and  get  out  of  me  what  old  Ham- 
mond had  said,  but  was  very  friendly  and  cheerful 
when  Dick  warned  him  off.  Annie  shook  hands 
with  me,  and  hoped  I  had  had  a  pleasant  day, — 
so  kindly,  that  I  felt  a  slight  pang  as  our  hands 
parted ;  for  to  say  the  truth,  I  liked  her  better  than 
Clara,  who  seemed  to  be  always  a  little  on  the  de- 
fensive, whereas  Annie  was  as  frank  as  could  be, 
and  seemed  to  get  honest  pleasure  from  everything 
and  everybody  about  her  without  the  least  effort. 

We  had  quite  a  little  feast  that  evening,  partly 
in  my  honor,  and  partly,  I  suspect,  —  though  noth- 
ing was  said  about  it,  —  in  honor  of  Dick  and  Clara 
coming  together  again.  The  wine  was  of  the  best ; 
the  hall  was  redolent  of  rich,  summer  flowers  ;  and 
after  supper  we  not  only  had  music  (Annie,  to  my 
mind,  surpassing  all  the  others  for  sweetness  and 
clearness  of  voice,  as  well  as  for  feeling  and  mean- 
ing), but  at  last  we  even  got  to  telling  stories,  and 
sat  there  listening,  with  no  other  light  but  that  of 
the  summer  moon  streaming  through  the  beautiful 


188  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

traceries  of  the  windows,  as  if  we  had  belonged  to 
time  long  passed,  when  books  were  scarce  and  the 
art  of  reading  somewhat  rare.  Indeed,  I  may  say 
here  that  though,  as  you  will  have  noted,  my 
friends  had  mostly  something  to  say  about  books, 
yet  they  were  not  great  readers,  considering  the  re- 
finement of  their  manners  and  the  great  amount  of 
leisure  which  they  obviously  had.  In  fact,  when 
Dick,  especially,  mentioned  a  book,  he  did  so  with 
an  air  of  a  man  who  has  accomplished  an  achieve- 
ment, —  as  much  as  to  say,  "  There,  you  see  I  have 
actually  read  that !  " 

The  evening  passed  all  too  quickly  for  me,  since 
that  day,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  was  hav- 
ing my  fill  of  the  pleasure  of  the  eyes  without  any 
of  that  sense  of  incongruity,  that  dread  of  ap- 
proaching ruin,  which  had  always  beset  me  hitherto 
when  I  had  been  among  the  beautiful  works  of  art 
of  the  past,  mingled  with  the  lovely  nature  of  the 
present,  —  both  of  them,  in  fact,  the  result  of  the 
long  centuries  of  tradition  which  had  compelled 
men  to  produce  the  art,  and  compelled  nature  to 
run  into  the  mould  of  the  ages.  Here  I  could  enjoy 
everything  without  an  after-thought  of  the  injus- 
tice and  miserable  toil  which  made  my  leisure  ;  the 
ignorance  and  dulness  of  life  which  went  to  make 
my  keen  appreciation  of  history ;  the  tyranny  and 
the  struggle  full  of  fear  and  mishap  which  went  to 
make  my  romance.  The  only  weight  I  had  upon 
my  heart  was  a  vague  fear,  as  it  drew  toward  bed- 
time, concerning  the  place  wherein  I  should  wake 
on  the  morrow ;  but  I  choked  that  down,  and  went 
to  bed  happy,  and  in  a  very  few  moments  was  in  a 
dreamless  sleep. 


OK,  AN    EPOCH    OF   REST.  189 


XXI. 

GOING   UP   THE    RIVER. 

WHEN"  I  did  wake,  to  a  beautiful  sunny  morn- 
ing, I  leaped  out  of  bed  with  my  over-night 
apprehension  still  clinging  to  me,  which  vanished 
delightfully,  however,  in  a  moment  as  I  looked 
around  nry  little  sleeping-chamber  and  saw  the 
pale  but  pure-colored  figures  painted  on  the  plaster 
of  the  wall,  with  verses  written  underneath  them 
which  I  knew  somewhat  over  well.  I  dressed 
speedily,  in  a  suit  of  blue  laid  ready  for  me,  so 
handsome  that  I  quite  blushed  when  I  had  got  into 
it,  feeling  as  I  did  so  that  excited  pleasure  of  antici- 
pation of  a  holiday  which,  well  remembered  as  it 
was,  I  had  not  felt  since  I  was  a  boy,  new  come 
home  for  the  summer  holidays. 

It  seemed  quite  early  in  the  morning,  and  I  ex- 
pected to  have  the  hall  to  myself  when  I  came  into 
it  out  of  the  corridor  wherein  was  my  sleeping 
chamber  ;  but  I  met  Annie  at  once,  who  let  fall  her 
broom  and  gave  me  a  kiss, — quite  meaningless  I 
fear,  except  as  betokening  friendship,  though  she 
reddened  as  she  did  it,  not  from  shyness,  but  from 
friendly  pleasure,  —  and  then  stood  and  picked  up 
her  broom  again  and  went  on  with  her  sweeping, 
nodding  to  me  as  if  to  bid  me  stand  out  of  the  way 
and  look  on;  which,   to  say  the  truth,  I  thought 


190  NEWS    FROM    NOWHERE  ; 

amusing  enough,  as  there  were  five  other  girls  help- 
ing her,  and  their  graceful  figures  engaged  in  the 
leisurely  work  were  worth  going  a  long  way  to  see, 
and  their  merry  talk  and  laughing  as  they  swept  in 
quite  a  scientific  manner  was  worth  going  a  long 
way  to  hear.  But  Annie  presently  threw  me  back 
a  word  or  two  as  she  went  on  to  the  other  end  of 
the  hall :  "  Guest,"  she  said,  "  I  am  glad  that  you  are 
up  early,  though  we  would  n't  disturb  you ;  for  our 
Thames  is  a  lovely  river  at  half-past  six  on  a  June 
morning ;  and  as  it  would  be  a  pity  for  you  to  lose 
it,  I  am  told  just  to  give  you  a  cup  of  milk  and  a 
bit  of  bread  outside  there,  and  put  you  into  the 
boat ;  for  Dick  and  Clara  are  all  ready  now.  Wait 
half  a  minute  till  I  have  swept  down  this  row." 

So  presently  she  let  her  broom  drop  again,  and 
came  and  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  out  on 
to  the  terrace  above  the  river,  to  a  little  table  under 
the  boughs,  where  my  bread  and  milk  took  the 
form  of  as  dainty  a  breakfast  as  any  one  could  de- 
sire, and  then  sat  by  me  as  I  ate.  And  in  a  minute 
or  two  Dick  and  Clara  came  to  me, — the  latter 
looking  most  fresh  and  beautiful  in  a  light  silk 
embroidered  gown,  Avhich  to  my  unused  eyes  was 
extravagantly  gay  and  bright ;  while  Dick  was  also 
handsomely  dressed  in  white  flannel  prettily  em- 
broidered. Clara  raised  her  gown  in  her  hands  as 
she  gave  me  the  morning  greeting,  and  said  laugh- 
ingly :  "  Look,  guest !  you  see  we  are  at  least  as  fine 
as  any  of  the  people  you  felt  inclined  to  scold  last 
night ;  you  see  we  are  not  going  to  make  the 
bright  day  and  the  flowers  feel  ashamed  of  them- 
selves.    Now  scold  me  !  " 

Quoth  I :  "  No,  indeed  ;  the  pair  of  you  seem  as 


OE,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  191 

if  you  were  born  out  of  the  summer  day  itself  ;  and 
I  will  scold  you  when  I  scold  it." 

"  Well,  you  know,"  said  Dick,  "  this  is  a  special 
day,  —  all  these  days  are,  I  mean.  The  hay-harvest 
is  in  some  ways  better  than  corn-harvest,  because 
of  the  beautiful  weather ;  and  really,  unless  you 
had  worked  in  the  hayfield  in  fine  weather,  you 
couldn't  tell  what  pleasant  work  it  is.  The 
women  look  so  pretty  at  it,  too,"  he  said  shyly ; 
"so  all  things  considered,  I  think  we  are  right 
to  adorn  it  in  a  simple  manner." 

"  Do  the  women  work  at  it  in  silk  dresses  ?  "  said 
I,  smiling. 

Dick  was  going  to  answer  me  soberly ;  but  Clara 
put  her  pretty  hand  over  his  mouth,  and  said : 
"  No,  no,  Dick ;  not  too  much  information  for  him, 
or  I  shall  think  that  you  are  your  old  kinsman 
again.  Let  him  find  out  for  himself;  he  will  not 
have  long  to  wait." 

"  Yes,"  quoth  Annie,  "  don't  make  your  descrip- 
tion of  the  picture  too  fine,  or  else  he  will  be 
disappointed  when  the  curtain  is  drawn.  I  don't 
want  him  to  be  disappointed.  But  now  it 's  time 
for  you  to  be  gone,  if  you  are  to  have  the  best  of 
the  tide,  and  also  of  the  sunny  morning.  Good- 
by,  guest." 

She  kissed  me  in  her  frank,  friendly  way,  and 
almost  took  away  from  me  my  desire  for  the  ex- 
pedition thereby ;  but  I  had  to  get  over  that,  as  it 
was  clear  that  so  delightful  a  woman  would  hardly 
be  without  a  due  lover  of  her  own  age.  We  went 
down  the  steps  of  the  landing-stage,  and  got  into 
a  pretty  boat,  not  too  light  to  hold  us  and  our  be- 
longings comfortably,  and  handsomely  ornamented; 


192  NEWS    FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

and  just  as  we  got  in,  down  came  Boffin  and  the 
weaver  to  see  us  off.  The  former  had  now  veiled 
his  splendor  in  a  due  suit  of  working-clothes, 
crowned  with  a  fantail  hat,  which  he  took  off, 
however,  to  wave  us  farewell  with  his  grave  old 
Spanish-like  courtesy.  Then  Dick  pushed  off  into 
the  stream,  and  bent  vigorously  to  his  sculls,  and 
Hammersmith,  with  its  noble  trees  and  beautiful 
water-side   houses,  began  to  slip  away  from  us. 

As  we  went,  I  could  not  help  putting  beside  his 
promised  picture  of  the  hay-field  as  it  was  then 
the  picture  of  it  as  I  remembered  it ;  and  especially 
the  images  of  the  women  engaged  in  the  work  rose 
up  before  me,  —  the  row  of  gaunt  figures,  lean,  flat- 
breasted,  ugly,  without  a  grace  of  form  and  face 
about  them ;  dressed  in  wretched  skimpy  print 
gowns,  and  hideous  flapping  sun-bonnets,  moving 
their  rakes  in  a  listless,  mechanical  way.  How 
often  had  that  marred  the  loveliness  of  the  June 
day  to  me  ;  how  often  had  I  longed  to  see  the  hay- 
fields  peopled  with  men  and  women  worthy  of  the 
sweet  abundance  of  early  summer,  of  its  endless 
wealth  of  beautiful  sights,  and  delicious  sounds 
and  scents.  And  now  the  world  had  grown  old 
and  wiser,  and  I  was  to  see  my  hope  realized  at 
last! 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  193 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HAMPTON    COURT  :    AND   A  PRAISER    OF    PAST   TIMES. 

CO  on  we  went,  Dick  rowing  in  an  easy,  tireless 
^  way,  and  Clara  sitting  by  my  side,  admiring  his 
manly  beauty  and  heartily  good-natured  face,  and 
thinking,  I  fancy,  of  nothing  else.  As  we  went 
higher  up  the  river,  there  was  less  difference  be- 
tween the  Thames  of  that  day  and  Thames  as  I 
remembered  it ;  for  setting  aside  the  hideous  vul- 
garity of  the  cockney  villas  of  the  well-to-do, 
stockbrokers  and  other  such,  which  in  older  time 
marred  the  beauty  of  the  bough-hung  banks,  even 
this  beginning  of  the  country  Thames  was  always 
beautiful;  and  as  we  slipped  between  the  lovely 
summer  greenery,  I  almost  felt  my  youth  come 
back  to  me,  and  as  if  I  were  on  one  of  those  water 
excursions  which  I  used  to  enjoy  so  much  in  days 
when  I  was  too  happy  to  think  that  there  could  be 
much  amiss  anywhere. 

At  last  we  came  to  a  reach  of  the  river  where  on 
the  left  hand  a  very  pretty  little  village  with  some 
old  houses  in  it  came  down  to  the  edge  of  the  water, 
over  which  was  a  ferry ;  and  beyond  these  houses 
the  elm-beset  meadows  ended  in  a  fringe  of  tall 
willows,  while  on  the  right  hand  went  the  tow-path 
and  a  space  nearly  clear  of  trees,  which  rose  up 
behind,  huge  and  ancient,  the  ornaments  of  a  great 
13 


194  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

park;  but  these  drew  back  still  further  from  the 
river  at  the  end  of  the  reach  to  make  way  for 
a  little  town  of  quaint  and  pretty  houses  some 
new,  some  old,  dominated  by  the  long  walls  and 
sharp  gables  of  a  great  red  brick  pile  of  building, 
partly  of  the  latest  Gothic,  partly  of  the  Court- 
style  of  Dutch  William,  but  so  blended  together 
by  the  bright  sun  and  beautiful  surroundings,  in- 
cluding the  bright  blue  river  that  it  looked  down 
upon,  that  even  amid  the  beautiful  buildings  of 
that  new  happy  time  it  had  a  strange  charm  about 
it.  A  great  wave  of  fragrance,  amid  which  the 
lime-tree  blossom  was  clearly  to  be  distinguished, 
came  down  to  us  from  its  unseen  gardens,  as  Clara 
sat  up  in  her  place,  and  said,  — 

"0  Dick,  dear,  couldn't  we  stop  at  Hampton 
Court  for  to-day,  and  take  the  guest  about  the 
park  a  little  and  show  him  those  sweet  old  build- 
ings ?  Somehow,  I  suppose  because  you  have  lived 
so  near  it,  you  have  seldom  taken  me  to  Hampton 
Court." 

Dick  rested  on  his  oars  a  little,  and  said :  "  Well, 
well,  Clara,  you  are  lazy  to-day.  I  did  n't  feel  like 
stopping  short  of  Shepperton  to-day ;  suppose  we 
just  go  and  have  our  dinner  at  the  Court,  and  go 
on  again  about  five  o'clock  ?  " 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  so  be  it ;  but  I  should  like 
the  guest  to  have  spent  an  hour  or  two  in  the 
Park." 

"The  Park!"  said  Dick;  "why,  the  whole 
Thames'-side  is  a  park  this  time  of  the  year ;  and 
for  my  part,  I  had  rather  lie  under  an  elm-tree  on 
the  borders  of  a  wheat-field,  with  the  bees  hum- 
ming about   me  and  the   corn-crake    crying  from 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  195 

furrow  to  furrow,  than  in  any  park  in  England. 
Besides  —  " 

"Besides,"  said  she,  "you  want  to  get  on  to 
your  dearly  loved  upper  Thames,  and  show  your 
prowess  down  the  heavy  swathes  of  the  mowing- 
grass." 

She  looked  at  him  fondly,  and  I  could  tell  that 
she  was  seeing  him  in  her  mind's  eye  showing  his 
splendid  form  at  its  best  amid  the  rhymed  strokes 
of  the  scythes ;  and  she  looked  down  at  her  own 
pretty  feet  with  a  half-sigh,  as  though  she  were 
contrasting  her  slight  woman's  beauty  with  his 
man's  beauty ;  as  women  will  when  they  are  really 
in  love,  and  are  not  spoiled  with  conventional 
sentiment. 

As  for  Dick,  he  looked  at  her  admiringly  a 
while,  and  then  said  at  last :  "  Well,  Clara,  I  do 
wish  we  were  there !  But,  hillo !  we  are  getting 
back  way."  And  he  set  to  work  sculling  again, 
and  in  two  minutes  we  were  all  standing  on  the 
gravelly  strand  below  the  bridge,  which,  as  you 
may  imagine,  was  no  longer  the  old  hideous  iron 
abortion,  but  a  handsome  piece  of  very  solid  oak 
framing. 

We  went  into  the  Court  and  straight  into  the 
great  hall,  so  well  remembered,  where  there  were 
tables  spread  for  dinner,  and  everything  arranged 
much  as  in  the  Hammersmith  Guest-hall.  Dinner 
over,  we  sauntered  through  the  ancient  rooms, 
where  the  pictures  and  tapestry  were  still  pre- 
served, and  nothing  was  much  changed,  except 
that  the  people  whom  we  met  there  had  an  inde- 
finable kind  of  look  of  being  at  home  and  at  ease, 
which  communicated  itself  to  me,  so  that  I  felt 


196  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

that  the  beautiful  old  place  was  mine  in  the  best 
sense  of  the  word;  and  my  pleasure  of  past  days 
seemed  to  add  itself  to  that  of  to-day,  and  filled 
my  whole  soul  with  content. 

Dick  (who,  in  spite  of  Clara's  gibe,  knew  the 
place  very  well)  told  me  that  the  beautiful  old 
Tudor  rooms,  which  I  remembered  were  the  dwell- 
ings of  the  lesser  fry  of  Court  flunkies,  were  much 
used  by  people  coming  and  going ;  for,  beautiful 
as  architecture  had  now  become,  and  although  the 
whole  face  of  the  country  had  quite  recovered  its 
beauty,  there  was  still  a  sort  of  tradition  of  pleas- 
ure and  beauty  which  clung  to  that  group  of  build- 
ings, and  people  thought  going  to  Hampton  Court 
a  necessary  summer  outing,  as  they  did  in  the  days 
when  London  was  so  grimy  and  miserable.  We 
went  into  some  of  the  rooms  looking  into  the  old 
garden,  and  were  well  received  by  the  people  in 
them,  who  got  speedily  into  talk  with  us,  and  looked 
with  politely  half-concealed  wonder  at  my  strange 
face.  Besides  these  birds  of  passage,  and  a  few 
regular  dwellers  in  the  place,  we  saw  out  in  the 
meadows  near  the  garden,  down  "  the  Long  Water," 
as  it  used  to  be  called,  many  gay  tents,  with  men, 
women,  and  children  round  about  them.  As  it 
seemed,  this  pleasure-loving  people  were  fond  of 
tent-life,  with  all  its  inconveniences,  which,  indeed, 
they  turned  into  pleasures  also. 

We  left  this  old  friend  by  the  time  appointed, 
and  I  made  some  feeble  show  of  taking  the  sculls  ; 
but  Dick  repulsed  me,  not  much  to  my  grief,  I  must 
say,  as  I  found  I  had  quite  enough  to  do  between 
the  enjoyment  of  the  beautiful  time  and  my  own 
lazily  blended  thoughts. 


OK,   AN    EPOCH    OF   EEST.  197 

As  to  Dick,  it  was  quite  right  to  let  him  pull,  for 
he  was  as  strong  as  a  horse,  and  had  the  greatest 
delight  in  bodily  exercise,  whatever  it  was.  We 
really  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  him  to  stop 
when  it  was  getting  rather  more  than  dusk,  and  the 
moon  was  brightening  just  as  we  were  off  Runny- 
mede.  We  landed  there,  and  were  looking  about 
for  a  place  whereon  to  pitch  our  tents  (for  we  had 
brought  two  with  us),  when  an  old  man  came  up 
to  us,  bade  us  good-evening,  and  asked  if  we  were 
housed  for  that  night;  and  finding  that  we  were 
not,  bade  us  home  to  his  house.  Nothing  loath,  we 
went  with  him,  and  Clara  took  his  hand  in  a  coax- 
ing way  which  I  noticed  she  used  with  old  men, 
and  as  we  went  on  our  way  made  some  common- 
place remark  about  the  beauty  of  the  day.  The  old 
man  stopped  short,  and  looked  at  her  and  said : 
"You  really  like  it  then?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  looking  very  much  astonished. 
"  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  perhaps  I  do.  I  did,  at  any 
rate,  when  I  was  younger  ;  but  now  I  think  I  should 
like  it  cooler." 

She  said  nothing,  and  went  on,  the  night  grow- 
ing about  as  dark  as  it  would  be  ;  till  just  at  the 
rise  of  the  hill  we  came  to  a  hedge  with  a  gate  in 
it,  which  the  old  man  unlatched,  and  led  us  into  a 
garden,  at  the  end  of  which  we  could  see  a  little 
house,  one  of  whose  little  windows  was  already 
yellow  with  candle-light.  We  could  see  even,  under 
the  doubtful  light  of  the  moon  and  the  last  of  the 
western  glow,  that  the  garden  was  stuffed  full  of 
flowers ;  and  the  fragrance  it  gave  out  in  the  gath- 
ering coolness  was    so  wonderfully  sweet   that  it 


198  NEWS  FROM  NOWHERE; 

seemed  the  very  heart  of  the  delight  of  the  June 
dusk ;  so  that  we  three  stopped  instinctively,  and 
Clara  gave  forth  a  little  sweet  "  Oh !  "  like  a  bird 
beginning  to  sing. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  a  lit- 
tle testily,  and  pulling  at  her  hand.  "  There 's  no 
dog ;  or  have  you  trodden  on  a  thorn  and  hurt  your 
foot  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  neighbor,"  she  said ;  "  but  how  sweet, 
how  sweet  it  is !  " 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  he ;  "  but  do  you  care  so 
much  for  that  ?  " 

She  laughed  out  musically,  and  we  followed  suit 
in  our  gruffer  voices ;  and  then  she  said:  "Of  course 
I  do,  neighbor ;  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  quoth  the  old  fellow  ;  then 
he  added,  as  if  somewhat  ashamed  of  himself :  "  Be- 
sides, you  know,  when  the  waters  are  out  and  all 
Eunnymede  is  flooded  it 's  none  so  pleasant." 

"/should  like  it,"  quoth  Dick.  "What  a  jolly 
sail  one  would  get  about  here  on  the  floods  on  a 
bright,  frosty,  January  morning  !  " 

"  Would  you  like  it  ?  "  said  our  host.  "  Well,  I 
won't  argue  with  you,  neighbor ;  it  is  n't  worth 
while.     Come  in  and  have  some  supper." 

We  went  up  a  paved  path  between  the  roses,  and 
straight  into  a  very  pretty  room,  panelled  and  carved 
and  as  clean  as  a  new  pin ;  but  the  chief  ornament 
of  which  was  a  young  girl,  light-haired  and  gray-eyed, 
but  with  her  face  and  hands  and  bare  feet  tanned 
quite  brown  with  the  sun.  Though  she  was  very 
lightly  clad,  that  was  clearly  from  choice,  not  from 
poverty,  though  these  were  the  first  cottage-dwellers 
I  had  come  across  ;  for  her  gown  was  of  silk,  and 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  199 

on  her  wrists  were  bracelets  that  seemed  to  me  of 
great  value.  She  was  lying  on  a  sheep-skin  near 
the  window,  but  jumped  up  as  soon  as  we  entered, 
and  when  she  saw  the  guests  behind  the  old  man 
she  clapped  her  hands  and  cried  out  with  pleasure, 
and  when  she  got  us  into  the  middle  of  the  room, 
fairly  danced  round  us  in  delight  of  our  company. 

"  What !  "  said  the  old  man,  "  you  are  pleased, 
are  you,  Ellen?" 

The  girl  danced  up  to  him  and  threw  her  arms 
round  him,  and  said :  "  Yes,  I  am,  and  so  ought  you 
to  be,  grandfather." 

"Well,  well,  I  am,"  said  he,  "as  much  as  I  can 
be  pleased.     Guests,  please  be  seated." 

This  seemed  rather  strange  to  us  ;  stranger,  I 
suspect,  to  my  friends  than  to  me ;  but  Dick  took 
the  opportunity  of  both  the  host  and  his  grand- 
daughter being  out  of  the  room  to  say  to  me, 
softly :  "  A  grumbler  ;  there  are  a  few  of  them  still. 
Once  upon  a  time,  I  am  told,  they  were  quite  a 
nuisance." 

The  old  man  came  in  as  he  spoke,  and  sat  down 
beside  us  with  a  sigh,  which,  indeed,  seemed  fetched 
up  as  if  he  wanted  us  to  take  notice  of  it ;  but  just 
then  the  girl  came  in  with  the  victuals,  and  the 
carle  missed  his  mark,  what  between  our  hunger 
generally  and  that  I  was  pretty  busy  watching  the 
granddaughter  moving  about,  as  beautiful  as  a 
picture. 

Everything  to  eat  and  drink,  though  it  was  some- 
what different  to  what  we  had  had  in  London,  was 
better  than  good,  but  the  old  man  eyed  rather  sulkily 
the  chief  dish  on  the  table,  on  which  lay  a  leash  of 
fine  perch,  and  said,  — 


200  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

"  H'm  !  perch  !  I  am  sorry  we  can't  do  better  for 
you,  guests.  The  time  was  when  we  might  have 
had  a  good  piece  of  salmon  up  from  London  for 
you ;  but  the  times  have  grown  mean  and  petty." 

"  Yes,  but  you  might  have  had  it  now,"  said 
the  girl,  giggling,  "if  you  had  known  that  they 
were  coming." 

"  It 's  our  fault  for  not  bringing  it  with  us, 
neighbors,"  said  Dick,  good-humoredly.  "But  if 
the  times  have  grown  petty,  at  any  rate  the  perch 
have  n't ;  that  fellow  in  the  middle  there  must 
have  weighed  a  good  two  pounds  when  he  was 
showing  his  dark  stripes  and  red  fins  to  the  min- 
nows yonder.  And  as  to  the  salmon,  why,  neighbor, 
my  friend  here,  who  comes  from  the  outlands,  was 
quite  surprised  yesterday  morning  when  I  told  him 
we  had  plenty  of  salmon  at  Hammersmith.  I  am 
sure  I  have  heard  nothing  of  the  times  worsening." 

He  looked  a  little  uncomfortable.  And  the  old 
man,  turning  to  me,  said  very  courteously,  — 

"  Well,  sir,  I  am  happy  to  see  a  man  from  over 
the  water ;  but  I  really  must  appeal  to  you  to  say 
whether  on  the  whole  you  are  not  better  off  in 
your  country,  —  where  I  suppose,  from  what  our 
guest  says,  you  are  brisker  and  more  alive,  because 
you  have  not  wholly  got  rid  of  competition.  You 
see,  I  have  read  not  a  few  books  of  the  past  clays, 
and  certainly  they  are  much  more  alive  than  those 
which  are  written  now ;  and  good,  sound,  unlimited 
competition  was  the  condition  under  which  they 
were  written,  —  if  we  did  n't  know  that  from  the 
record  of  history  we  should  know  it  from  the  books 
themselves.  There  is  a  spirit  of  adventure  in  them, 
and  signs  of  a  capacity  to  extract  good  out  of  evil 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  201 

which  our  literature  quite  lacks  now;  and  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that   our   moralists   and   historians  \ 
exaggerate  hugely  the  unhappiness  of  the  past  days,  f 
in  which  such  splendid  works  of  imagination  and/ 
intellect  were  produced." 

Clara  listened  to  him  with  restless  eyes,  as  if 
she  were  excited  and  pleased;  Dick  knitted  his 
brow  and  looked  still  more  uncomfortable,  but  said 
nothing.  Indeed,  the  old  man  gradually,  as  he 
warmed  to  his  subject,  dropped  his  sneering  man- 
ner, and  both  spoke  and  looked  very  seriously. 
But  the  girl  broke  out  before  I  could  deliver  myself 
of  the  answer  I  was  framing,  — 

"  Books,  books  !  —  always  books,  grandfather  ! 
When  will  you  understand  that,  after  all,  it  is  the 
world  we  live  in  which  interests  us  ;  the  world  of 
which  we  are  a  part,  and  which  we  can  never  love 
too  much  ?  Look !  "  she  said,  throwing  open  the 
casement  wider,  and  showing  us  the  white  light 
sparkling  between  the  black  shadows  of  the  moon- 
lit garden,  through  which  ran  a  little  shiver  of  the 
summer  night-wind,  "  look  !  these  are  our  books  in 
these  days  !  —  and  these,"  she  said,  stepping  lightly 
up  to  the  two  lovers  and  laying  a  hand  on  each  of 
their  shoulders  ;  "  and  the  guest  there,  with  his 
oversea  knowledge  and  experience,  —  yes,  and  even 
you,  grandfather  "  (a  smile  ran  over  her  face  as 
she  spoke),  "  with  all  your  grumbling  and  wishing 
yourself  back  again  in  the  good  old  days,  —  in 
which,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out,  a  harmless  and 
lazy  old  man  like  you  would  either  have  pretty 
nearly  starved,  or  have  had  to  pay  soldiers  and 
people  to  take  the  folk's  victuals  and  clothes  and 
houses  away  from  them  by  force.     Yes,  these  are 


202  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

our  books  ;  and  if  we  want  more,  can  we  not  find 
work  to  do  in  the  beautiful  buildings  that  we  raise 
up  all  over  the  country  (and  I  know  there  was 
nothing  like  them  in  past  times),  wherein  a  man 
can  put  forth  whatever  is  in  him,  and  make  his 
hands  set  forth  his  mind  and  his  soul." 

She  paused  a  little,  and  I  for  my  part  could  not 
help  staring  at  her,  and  thinking  that  if  she  were 
a  book,  the  pictures  in  it  were  most  lovely.  The 
color  mantled  in  her  delicate  sunburnt  cheeks  ;  her 
gray  eyes,  light  amid  the  tan  of  her  face,  looked 
kindly  on  us  all  as  she  spoke.  She  paused,  and 
said  again,  — 

"  As  for  your  books,  I  say  flatly  that  in  spite  of 
all  their  cleverness  and  vigor,  and  capacity  for 
story-telling,  there  is  something  loathsome  about 
them.  Some  of  them,  indeed,  do  here  and  there 
show  some  feeling  for  those  whom  the  history- 
books  call  '  poor,'  and  of  the  misery  of  whose  lives 
we  have  some  inkling ;  but  presently  they  give  it 
up,  and  towards  the  end  of  the  story  we  must  be 
contented  to  see  the  hero  and  heroine  living  hap- 
pily in  an  island  of  bliss  on  other  people's  troubles, 
—  and  that  after  a  long  series  of  sham  troubles  (or 
mostly  sham)  of  their  own  making,  illustrated  by 
dreary,  introspective  nonsense  about  their  feelings 
and  aspirations,  and  all  the  rest  of  it ;  while  the 
world  must  even  then  have  gone  on  its  way,  and 
dug  and  sewed  and  baked  and  built  and  carpen- 
tered round  about  these  useless  —  animals." 

"  There  ! "  said  the  old  man,  reverting  to  his 
dry,  sulky  manner  again.  "  There 's  eloquence  !  I 
suppose  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  very  emphatically. 


OR,   AN    EPOCH    OF   BEST.  203 

"Well,"  said  he,  "now  the  storm  of  eloquence 
has  lulled  for  a  little,  suppose  you  answer  ray- 
question,  —  that  is,  if  you  like,  you  know,"  quoth 
he,  with  a  sudden  access  of  courtesy. 

"  "What  question  ?  "  said  I.  For  I  must  confess 
that  Ellen's  strange  and  almost  wild  beauty  had 
put  it  out  of  my  head. 

Said  he  :  "  First  of  all  (excuse  my  catechizing), 
is  there  competition  in  life,  after  the  old  kind,  in 
the  country  whence  you  come  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "it  is  the  rule  there."  And  I 
wondered  as  I  spoke  what  fresh  complications  I 
should  get  into  as  a  result  of  this  answer. 

"  Question  two,"  said  the  carle :  "  Are  you  not  on 
the  whole  much  freer,  more  energetic,  —  in  a  word, 
healthier  and  happier,  —  for  it  ?  " 

I  smiled.  "You  wouldn't  talk  so  if  you  had 
any  idea  of  our  life.  To  me  you  seem  here  as  if 
you  were  living  in  heaven  compared  with  us  of  the 
country  from  which  I  came." 

"Heaven?"  said  he;  "you  like  heaven,  do 
you  °  " 

n  Yes"0-  said  I  —  snappishly,  I  am  afraid  ;  for  I 
was  beginning  rather  to  resent  his  formula. 

"Well,  I  am  far  from  sure  that  I  do,"  quoth  he. 
"I  think  one  may  do  more  with  one's  life  than 
sitting  on  a  damp  cloud  and  singing  hymns." 

I  was  rather  nettled  by  this  inconsequence,  and 
said  :  "  Well,  neighbor,  to  be  short,  and  without 
using  metaphors,  in  the  land  whence  I  come,  where 
the  competition  which  produced  those  literary 
works  which  you  admire  so  much  is  still  the  rule, 
most  people  are  thoroughly  unhappy ;  here,  to  me 
at  least,  most  people  seem  thoroughly  happy." 


204  KEVVS    FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

"No  offence,  guest  —  no  offence,"  said,  he;  "but 
let  me  ask  you ;  you  like  that,  do  you  ?  " 

His  formula,  put  with  such  obstinate  persistence, 
made  us  all  laugh  heartily ;  and  even  the  old  man 
joined  in  the  laughter  on  the  sly.  However,  he 
was  by  no  means  beaten,  and  said  presently,  — 

"From  all  I  can  hear,  I  should  judge  that  a 
young  woman  so  beautiful  as  my  dear  Ellen  yonder 
would  have  been  a  lady,  as  they  called  it  in  the  old 
time,  and  would  n't  have  had  to  wear  a  few  rags  of 
silk  as  she  does  now,  or  to  have  browned  herself  in 
the  sun  as  she  has  to  do  now.  What  do  you  say  to 
that,  eh  ?  " 

Here  Clara,  who  had  been  pretty  much  silent 
hitherto,  struck  in,  and  said :  "  Well,  really,  I  don't 
think  that  would  have  mended  matters,  or  that 
they  want  mending.  Don't  you  see  that  she  is 
dressed  deliciously  for  this  beautiful  weather  ?  And 
as  for  the  sun-burning  of  your  hayfields,  why,  I 
hope  to  pick  up  some  of  that  for  myself  when  we 
get  a  little  higher  up  the  river.  Look  if  I  don't 
need  a  little  sun  on  my  pasty,  white  skin ! " 

And  she  stripped  up  the  sleeve  from  her  arm  and 
laid  it  beside  Ellen's,  who  was  now  sitting  next  her. 
To  say  the  truth,  it  was  rather  amusing  to  me  to 
see  Clara  putting  herself  forward  as  a  town-bred 
fine  lady,  for  she  was  as  well-knit  and  clean-skinned 
a  girl  as  might  be  met  with  anywhere  at  the  best. 
Dick  stroked  the  beautiful  arm  rather  shyly,  and 
pulled  down  the  sleeve  again,  while  she  blushed 
at  his  touch ;  and  the  old  man  said  laughingly : 
"  Well,  I  suppose  you  do  like  that,  don't  you  ?  " 

Ellen  kissed  her  new  friend,  and  we  all  sat  silent 
for  a  little,  till  she  broke  out  into  a  sweet,  shrill 


OR,    AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  205 

song,  and  held  us  all  entranced  with  the  wonder  of 
her  clear  voice ;  and  the  old  grumbler  sat  looking 
at  her  lovingly.  The  other  young  people  sang  also 
in  due  time  ;  and  then  Ellen  showed  us  to  our  beds 
in  small  cottage-chambers,  fragrant  and  clean  as 
the  ideal  of  the  old  pastoral  poets ;  and  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  evening  quite  extinguished  my  fear  of 
the  last  night  that  I  should  wake  up  in  the  old 
miserable  world  of  worn-out  pleasures,  and  hopes 
that  were  half  fears. 


206  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AN  EARLY  MORNING  BY  RUNNYMEDE. 

npHOUGH  there  were  no  rough  noises  to  wake 
*■  me,  I  could  not  lie  long  abed  the  next  morn- 
ing, where  the  world  seemed  so  well  awake,  and, 
despite  the  old  grumbler,  so  happy;  so  I  got 
up,  and  found  that,  early  as  it  was,  some  one  had 
been  stirring,  since  all  was  trim  and  in  its  place  in 
the  little  parlor,  and  the  table  laid  for  the  morning 
meal.  Nobody  was  afoot  in  the  house  as  then, 
however,  so  I  went  out  a-doors,  and  after  a  turn  or 
two  round  the  superabundant  garden,  I  wandered 
down  over  the  meadow  to  the  river-side,  where  lay 
our  boat,  looking  quite  familiar  and  friendly  to  me. 
I  walked  up  stream  a  little,  watching  the  light 
mist  curling  up  from  the  river  till  the  sun  gained 
power  to  draw  it  all  away  ;  saw  the  bleak  speckling 
the  water  under  the  willow  boughs,  whence  the 
tiny  flies  they  fed  on  were  falling  in  myriads ; 
heard  the  great  chub  splashing  here  and  there  at 
some  belated  moth  or  other,  and  felt  almost  back 
again  in  my  boyhood.  Then  I  went  back  again  to 
the  boat  and  loitered  there  a  minute  or  two,  and 
then  walked  slowly  up  the  meadow  towards  the  little 
house.  I  noted  now  that  there  were  four  more 
houses  of  about  the  same  size  on  the  slope  away 
from  the  river.     The  meadow  in  which  I  was  going 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  207 

was  not  up  for  hay;  but  a  row  of  hurdles  ran  up 
the  slope  not  far  from  me  on  each  side,  and  in  the 
field  so  parted  off  from  ours  on  the  left  they  were 
making  hay  busily  by  now,  in  the  simple  fashion 
of  the  days  when  I  was  a  boy.  My  feet  turned 
that  way  instinctively,  as  I  wanted  to  see  how 
haymakers  looked  in  these  new  and  better  times, 
and  also  I  rather  expected  to  see  Ellen  there ;  but 
presently  I  saw  a  light  figure  come  out  of  the 
hayfield  higher  up  the  slope  and  make  for  our 
house ;  and  that  was  Ellen.  But  before  she  had 
come  to  the  garden  gate,  out  came  Dick  and  Clara, 
who,  after  a  minute's  pause,  came  down  to  meet 
me,  leaving  Ellen  in  the  garden;  then  we  three 
went  down  to  the  boat,  talking  mere  morning 
prattle.  We  stayed  there  a  little,  Dick  arranging 
some  of  the  matters  in  her,  for  we  had  only  taken 
up  to  the  house  such  things  as  we  thought  the  dew 
might  damage  ;  and  then  we  went  toward  the  house 
again;  but  when  we  came  near  the  garden,  Dick 
stopped  us  by  laying  a  hand  on  my  arm,  and 
said,  — 

"  Just  look  a  moment." 

I  looked,  and  over  the  low  hedge  saw  Ellen, 
shading  her  eyes  against  the  sun  as  she  looked 
toward  the  hayfield,  a  light  wind  stirring  in  her 
tawny  hair,  her  eyes  like  light  jewels  amid  her 
sunburnt  face,  which  looked  as  if  the  warmth  of 
the  sun  were  yet  in  it. 

"  Look,  guest,"  said  Dick ;  "  does  n't  it  all  look 
like  one  of  those  very  stories  out  of  Grimm  that  we 
were  talking  about  up  m  Bloomsbury  ?  Here  are 
we  two  lovers  wandering  about  the  world,  and  we 
have  come  to  Fairy  Garden,  and  there  is  the  very 


208  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

fairy  herself  amidst  of  it ;  I  -wonder  what  she  will 
do  for  us." 

Said  Clara,  demurely,  but  not  stiffly :  "Is  she  a 
good  fairy,  Dick  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  he ;  "  and  according  to  the  card, 
she  would  be  better  if  it  were  not  for  the  gnome,  or 
wood-spirit,  our  grumbling  friend  of  last  night." 

We  laughed  at  this ;  and  I  said,  "  I  hope  you  see 
that  you  have  left  me  out  of  the  tale." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  that 's  true.  You  had  better 
consider  that  you  have  got  the  cap  of  darkness,  and 
are  seeing  everything,  yourself  invisible." 

That  touched  me  on  my  weak  side  of  not  feeling 
sure  of  my  position  in  this  beautiful  new  country  ; 
so  in  order  not  to  make  matters  worse,  I  held  my 
tongue,  and  we  all  went' into  the  garden  and  up  to 
the  house  together.  I  noticed  by  the  way  that 
Clara  must  really  rather  have  felt  the  contrast 
between  herself  as  a  town  madam  and  this  piece  of 
the  summer  country  that  we  all  admired  so,  for  she 
had  rather  dressed  after  Ellen  that  morning  as  to 
thinness  and  scantiness,  and  went  barefoot  also. 

The  old  man  greeted  us  kindly  in  the  parlor,  and 
said:  "Well,  guests,  so  you  have  been  looking 
about  to  search  into  the  nakedness  of  the  land ;  I 
suppose  your  illusions  of  last  night  have  given  way 
a  bit  before  the  morning  light  ?  Do  you  still  like 
it,  eh  ?  " 

"Very  much,"  said  I,  doggedly;  "it  is  one  of 
the  prettiest  places  on  the  lower  Thames." 

"  Oho ! "  said  he ;  "  so  you  know  the  Thames, 
do  you  ?  " 

I  reddened,  for  I  saw  Dick  and  Clara  looking  at 
me,  and   scarcely  knew  what  to  say.     However, 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  209 

since  I  had  said  in  our  early  intercourse  with  my 
Hammersmith  friends  that  I  had  known  Epping 
Forest,  I  thought  a  hasty  generalization  might  be 
better  rfc.  avoiding  complications  than  a  downright 
lie  ;  so  I  said,  — 

"  I  have  been  in  this  country  before  ;  and  I  have 
been  on  the  Thames  in  those  days." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  old  man,  eagerly,  "  so  you  have 
been  in  this  country  before.  Now  really,  don't  you 
find  it  (apart  from  all  theory,  you  know)  much 
changed  for  the  worse  ?  " 

"  No,  not  at  all,"  said  I ;  "  I  find  it  much  changed 
for  the  better." 

"Ah,"  quoth  he,  "I  fear  that  you  have  been 
prejudiced  by  some  theory  or  another.  However, 
of  course  the  time  when  you  were  here  before  must 
have  been  so  near  our  own  days  that  the  deteriora- 
tion might  not  be  very  great :  as  then  we  were,  of 
course,  still  living  under  the  same  customs  as  we 
are  now.  I  was  thinking  of  earlier  days  than 
that." 

"  In  short,"  said  Clara,  "  you  have  theories  about 
the  change  which  has  taken  place." 

"  I  have  facts  as  well,"  said  he.  "  Look  here  ! 
from  this  hill  you  can  see  just  four  little  houses,  in- 
cluding this  one.  Well,  I  know  for  certain  that  in 
old  times,  even  in  the  summer,  you  could  see  from 
the  same  place  six  quite  big  and  fine  houses  ;  and 
higher  up  the  water,  garden  joined  garden  right  up 
to  Windsor ;  and  there  were  big  houses  in  all  the 
gardens.  Ah  !  England  was  an  important  place  in 
those  days." 

I  was  getting  nettled,  and  said:  "What  you 
mean  is  that  you  de-cockneyized  the  place,  and 
14 


210  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

sent  the  damned  flunkies  packing ;  and  that  every- 
body can  live  comfortably  and  happily,  and  not  a 
few  damned  thieves  only,  who  were  centres  of 
vulgarity  and  corruption  wherever  they  were,  and 
who,  as  to  this  lovely  river,  destroyed  its  beauty 
morally  and  had  almost  destroyed  it  physically, 
when  they  were  thrown  out  of  it." 

There  was  silence  after  this  outburst,  which  for 
the  life  of  me  I  could  not  help,  remembering  how  I 
had  suffered  from  cockneyism  and  its  cause  on 
those  same  waters  of  old  time.  But  at  last  the 
old  man  said,  quite  coolly,  — 

"  My  dear  guest,  I  really  don't  know  what  you 
mean  by  either  '  cockneys,'  or  '  flunkies,'  or  { thieves,' 
or  *  damned ; '  or  how  only  a  few  people  could  live 
happily  and  comfortably  in  a  wealthy  country. 
All  I  can  see  is  that  you  are  angry,  and  I  fear 
with  me ;  so  if  you  like  we  will  change  the 
subject." 

I  thought  this  kind  and  hospitable  in  him,  con- 
sidering his  obstinacy  about  his  theory  ;  and  has- 
tened to  say  that  I  did  not  mean  to  be  angry,  only 
emphatic.  He  bowed  gravely,  and  I  thought  the 
storm  was  over,  when  suddenly  Ellen  broke  in,  — 

"  Grandfather,  our  guest  is  reticent  from  cour- 
tesy ;  but  really  what  he  has  in  his  mind  to  say  to 
you  ought  to  be  said ;  so,  as  I  know  pretty  well 
what  it  is,  I  will  say  it  for  him.  For,  as  you  know, 
I  have  been  taught  these  things  by  people  who  —  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "  by  the  sage  of 
Bloomsbury  and  others." 

"  Oh,"  said  Dick,  "  so  you  know  my  old  kinsman 
Hammond  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  she,   "and  other  people  too,  as  my 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   BEST.  211 

grandfather  says,  and  they  have  taught  me  things  ; 
and  this  is  the  upshot  of  it.  We  live  in  a  little 
house  now,  not  because  we  have  nothing  grander 
to  do  than  working  in  the  fields,  but  because  we 
please ;  for  if  we  liked,  we  could  go  and  live  in  a 
big  house  among  pleasant  companions." 

Grumbled  the  old  man :  "  Just  so  !  As  if  I  would 
live  among  those  conceited  fellows,  —  all  of  them 
looking  down  upon  me  !  " 

She  smiled  on  him  kindly,  but  went  on  as  if  he 
had  not  spoken.  "In  the  past  times,  when  those 
big  houses  of  which  grandfather  speaks  were  so 
plenty,  we  must  have  lived  in  a  cottage  whether  we 
had  liked  it  or  not ;  and  the  said  cottage,  instead 
of  having  in  it  everything  we  want,  would  have 
been  bare  and  empty.  We  should  not  have  got 
enough  to  eat;  our  clothes  would  have  been  ugly 
to  look  at,  dirty,  and  frowsy.  You,  grandfather, 
have  done  no  hard  work  for  years  now,  but  wander 
about  and  read  your  books  and  have  nothing  to 
worry  you ;  and  as  for  me,  I  work  hard  when  I 
like  it  because  I  like  it,  and  think  it  does  me  good 
and  knits  up  my  muscles,  and  makes  me  prettier  to 
look  at  and  healthier  and  happier.  But  in  those 
past  days  you,  grandfather,  would  have  had  to 
work  hard  after  you  are  old ;  and  would  have  been 
always  afraid  of  having  to  be  shut  up  in  a  kind  of 
prison  along  with  other  old  men,  half -starved  and 
without  amusement.  And  as  for  me,  I  am  twenty 
years  old.  In  those  days  my  middle  age  would  be 
beginning  now,  and  in  a  few  years  I  should  be 
pinched,  thin,  and  haggard,  beset  with  troubles  and 
miseries,  so  that  no  one  could  have  guessed  that  I 
was  once  a  beautiful  girl.     Is  this  what  you  have 


"v» 


212  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

had  in  your  mind,  guest  ?  "  said  she,  the  tears  in 
her  eyes  at  thought  of  the  past  miseries  of  people 
like  herself. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  much  moved,  "  that  and  more. 
Often,  in  my  country,  have  I  seen  that  wretched 
change  you  have  spoken  of,  from  the  fresh,  hand- 
some country  lass  to  the  poor,  draggle-tailed  country 
woman." 

The  old  man  sat  silent  for  a  little,  but  presently 
recovered  himself,  and  took  comfort  in  his  old 
phrase  of  "  Well,  you  like  it  so,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"   said  Ellen,    "  I  love   life    better    than 


.   death." 


"  Oh,  you  do,  do  you  ?  "  said  he.  "  Well,  for  my 
part,  I  like  reading  a  good  old  book  with  plenty  of 
fun  in  it,  like  Thackeray's  '  Vanity  Fair.'  Why 
don't  you  write  books  like  that  now  ?  Ask  that 
question  of  your  Bloomsbury  sage." 

Seeing  Dick's  cheeks  reddening  a  little  at  this 
sally,  and  noting  that  silence  followed,  I  thought 
I  had  better  do  something.  So  I  said,  "  I  am  only 
the  guest,  friends ;  but  I  know  you  want  to  show 
me  your  river  at  its  best,  so  don't  you  think  we 
had  better  be  moving  presently,  as  it  is  certainly 
going  to  be  a  hot  day  ?  " 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  213 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

UP   THE   THAMES  :     THE   SECOND    DAY. 

THEY  were  not  slow  to  take  my  hint ;  and  in- 
deed, as  to  the  mere  time  of  day,  it  was  best 
for  us  to  be  off,  as  it  was  past  seven  o'clock  and 
the  day  promised  to  be  very  hot.  So  we  got  up 
and  went  down  to  our  boat,  —  Ellen  thoughtful  and 
abstracted,  the  old  man  very  kind  and  courteous,  as 
if  to  make  up  for  his  crabbedness  of  opinion.  Clara 
was  cheerful  and  natural,  but  a  little  subdued,  I 
thought ;  and  she  at  least  was  not  sorry  to  be  gone, 
and  often  looked  shyly  and  timidly  at  Ellen  and 
her  strange,  wild  beauty.  So  we  got  into  the  boat, 
Dick  saying,  as  he  took  his  place,  "Well,  it  is  a 
fine  day ! "  and  the  old  man  answering,  "  What ! 
you  like  that,  do  you  ?  "  once  more ;  and  presently 
Dick  was  sending  the  bows  swiftly  through  the 
slow  weed-checked  stream.  But  presently  I  in- 
sisted on  taking  the  sculls,  and  I  rowed  a  good 
deal  that  day,  which  no  doubt  accounts  for  the 
fact  that  we  got  very  late  to  the  place  which  Dick 
had  aimed  at.  Clara  was  particularly  affectionate 
to  Dick,  as  I  noticed  from  the  rowing  thwart ;  but 
as  for  him,  he  was  as  frankly  kind  and  merry  as 
ever,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  it,  as  a  man  of  his  tem- 
perament could  not  have  taken  her  caresses  cheer- 
fully and  without  embarrassment  if  he  had  been  at 
all  entangled  by  the  fairy  of  our  last  night's  abode. 


214  NEWS    FROM    NOWHERE  ; 

I  need  say  little  about  the  lovely  reaches  of  the 
river  here.  I  duly  noted  that  absence  of  cockney 
villas  which  the  old  man  had  lamented,  and  I  saw 
with  pleasure  that  my  old  enemies  the  "Gothic" 
cast-iron  bridges  had  been  replaced  by  handsome 
oak  and  stone  ones.  Also  the  banks  of  the  forest 
that  we  passed  through  had  lost  their  courtly  game- 
keeperish  trimness,  and  were  as  wild  and  beautiful 
as  need  be,  though  the  trees  were  clearly  well  seen 
to.  I  thought  it  best,  in  order  to  get  the  most 
direct  information,  to  play  the  innocent  about  Eton 
and  Windsor ;  but  Dick  volunteered  his  knowledge 
to  me  as  we  lay  in  Datchet  lock  about  the  first. 
Quoth  he,  — 

"Up  yonder  are  some  beautiful  old  buildings, 
which  were  built  for  a  great  college  or  teaching- 
place  by  one  of  the  mediaeval  kings,  —  Edward  the 
Sixth,  I  think "  (I  smiled  to  myself  at  his  rather 
natural  blunder).  "He  meant  poor  people's  sons 
to  be  taught  there  what  knowledge  was  going  in 
his  days ;  but  it  was  a  matter  of  course  that,  in  the 
times  of  which  you  seem  to  know  so  much,  they 
spoiled  whatever  good  there  was  in  the  founder's 
intentions.  My  old  kinsman  says  that  they  treated 
them  in  a  very  simple  way,  and  instead  of  teaching 
poor  men's  sons  to  know  something,  they  taught 
rich  men's  sons  to  know  nothing.  It  seems,  from 
what  he  says,  that  it  was  a  place  for  the  '  aristoc- 
racy '  (if  you  know  what  that  word  means  ;  I  have 
been  told  its  meaning)  to  get  rid  of  the  company 
of  their  male  children  for  a  great  part  of  the  year. 
I  dare  say  old  Hammond  would  give  you  plenty  of 
information  in  detail  about  it." 

"  What  is  it  used  for  now  ?  "  said  I, 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   KEST.  215 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  the  buildings  were  a  good  deal 
spoiled  by  the  last  few  generations  of  aristocrats, 
who  seem  to  have  had  a  great  hatred  against  beau- 
tiful old  buildings,  —  and,  indeed,  all  records  of 
past  history,  —  but  it  is  still  a  delightful  place. 
Of  course,  we  cannot  use  it  quite  as  the  founder 
intended,  since  our  ideas  about  teaching  young 
people  are  so  changed  from  the  ideas  of  his  time, 
so  it  is  used  now  as  a  dwelling  for  people  engaged 
in  learning ;  and  folk  from  round  about  come  and 
get  taught  things  that  they  want  to  learn,  and 
there  is  a  great  library  there  of  the  best  books. 
So  that  I  don't  think  that  the  old  dead  king  would 
be  much  hurt  if  he  were  to  come  to  life  and  see 
what  we  are  doing  there." 

"  Well,"  said  Clara,  laughing,  "  I  think  he  would 
miss  the  boys." 

"  Not  always,  my  dear,"  said  Dick,  for  there  are 
often  plenty  of  boys  there,  who  come  to  get  taught ; 
and  also,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  to  learn  boating  and 
swimming.  I  wish  we  could  stop  there ;  but  perhaps 
we  had  better  do  that  coming  down  the  water." 

The  lock-gates  opened  as  he  spoke,  and  out  we 
went,  and  on.  And  as  for  Windsor,  he  said  noth- 
ing till  I  lay  on  my  oars  (for  I  was  sculling  then) 
in  Clewer  reach,  and  looking  up,  said,  "What  is  all 
that  building  up  there  ?  " 

Said  he:  "There,  I  thought  I  would  wait  till 
you  asked  yourself.  That  is  Windsor  Castle  ;  that 
also  I  thought  I  would  keep  for  you  till  we  come 
down  the  water.  It  looks  fine  from  here,  does  n't 
it  ?  But  a  great  deal  of  it  has  been  built  or  skinned 
in  the  time  of  the  Degradation,  and  we  would  n't 
pull  the  buildings  down,  since  they  were  there ; 


216  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

just  as  with  the  buildings  of  the  Dung-market. 
You  know,  of  course,  that  it  was  the  palace  of  our 
old  mediaeval  kings,  and  was  used  later  on  for  the 
same  purpose  by  the  parliamentary  commercial 
sham-kings,  as  my  old  kinsman  calls  them." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "I  know  all  that.  What  is  it 
used  for  now  ?  " 

"  A  great  many  people  live  there,"  said  he,  "  as, 
with  all  drawbacks,  it  is  a  very  pleasant  place ; 
there  is  also  a  well-arranged  store  of  antiquities  of 
various  kinds  that  have  seemed  worth  keeping,  —  a 
museum,  it  would  have  been  called  in  the  times 
you  understand  so  well." 

I  drew  my  sculls  through  the  water  at  that 
last  word,  and  pulled  as  if  I  were  fleeing  from 
those  times  which  I  understood  so  well;  and  we 
were  soon  going  up  the  once  sorely  be-cockneyed 
reaches  of  the  river  about  Maidenhead,  which  now 
looked  as  pleasant  and  enjoyable  as  the  up-river 
reaches. 

The  morning  was  now  getting  on,  the  morning 
of  a  jewel  of  a  summer  day, — one  of  those  days 
which,  if  they  were  commoner  in  these  islands, 
would  make  our  climate  the  best  of  all  climates, 
without  dispute.  A  light  wind  blew  from  the 
west ;  the  little  clouds  that  had  arisen  at  about  our 
breakfast-time  had  seemed  to  get  higher  and  higher 
in  the  heavens;  and  in  spite  of  the  burning  sun, 
we  no  more  longed  for  rain  than  we  feared  it. 
Burning  as  the  sun  was,  there  was  a  fresh  feeling 
in  the  air  that  almost  set  us  a-longing  for  the  rest 
of  the  hot  afternoon,  and  the  stretch  of  blossoming 
wheat  seen  from  the  shadow  of  the  boughs.  No 
one  unburdened  with  very  heavy  anxieties  could 


OR,   AN    EPOCH    OF   REST.  217 

have  felt  otherwise  than  happy  that  morning ;  and 
it  must  be  said  that  whatever  anxieties  might  lie 
beneath  the  surface  of  things,  we  didn't  seem  to 
come  across  any  of  them. 

We  passed  by  several  fields  where  haymaking 
was  going  on,  but  Dick,  and  especially  Clara,  were 
so  jealous  of  our  up-river  festival  that  they  would 
not  allow  me  to  have  much  to  say  to  them.  I 
could  only  notice  that  the  people  in  the  fields 
looked  strong  and  handsome,  both  men  and  women, 
and  that  so  far  from  there  being  any  appearance 
of  sordidness  about  their  attire,  they  seemed  to  be 
dressed  specially  for  the  occasion,  —  lightly,  of 
course,  but  gayly  and  with  plenty  of  adornment. 

Both  on  this  day  as  well  as  yesterday  we  had, 
as  you  may  think,  met  and  passed  and  been  passed 
by  many  craft  of  one  kind  and  another.  The  most 
part  of  these  were  being  rowed  like  ourselves,  or 
were  sailing,  in  the  sort  of  way  that  sailing  is 
managed  on  the  upper  reaches  of  the  river ;  but 
every  now  and  then  we  came  on  barges,  laden  with 
hay  or  other  country  produce,  or  carrying  bricks, 
lime,  timber,  and  the  like,  and  these  were  going  on 
their  way  without  any  means  of  propulsion  visible 
to  me,  —  just  a  man  at  the  tiller,  with  often  a  friend 
or  two  laughing  and  talking  with  him.  Dick,  see- 
ing on  one  occasion  this  day  that  I  was  looking 
rather  hard  on  one  of  these,  said :  "  That  is  one  of 
our  force  barges ;  it  is  quite  as  easy  to  work  ve- 
hicles by  force  by  water  as  by  land." 

I  understood  pretty  well  that  these  "  force  ve- 
hicles "  had  taken  the  place  of  our  old  steam-power 
carrying ;  but  I  took  good  care  not  to  ask  any 
questions  about  them,  as  I  knew  well  enough  both 


218  NEWS  FROM  NOWHERE  ; 

that  I  should  never  be  able  to  understand  how 
they  were  worked,  and  that  in  attempting  to  do  so 
I  should  betray  myself,  or  get  into  some  complica- 
tion impossible  to  explain ;  so  I  merely  said,  "  Yes, 
of  course,  I  understand." 

We  went  ashore  at  Bisham,  where  the  remains 
of  the  old  Abbey  and  the  Elizabethan  house  that 
had  been  added  to  them  yet  remained,  none  the 
worse  for  many  years  of  careful  and  appreciative 
habitation.  The  folk  of  the  place,  however,  were 
mostly  in  the  fields  that  day,  both  men  and  women ; 
so  we  met  only  two  old  men  there,  and  a  younger 
one  who  had  stayed  at  home  to  get  on  with  some 
literary  work,  which  I  imagine  we  considerably 
interrupted.  Yet  I  also  think  that  the  hard-work- 
ing man  who  received  us  was  not  very  sorry  for 
the  interruption.  Anyhow,  he  kept  on  pressing  us 
to  stay,  over  and  over  again,  till  at  last  we  did  not 
get  away  till  the  cool  of  the  evening. 

However,  that  mattered  little  to  us ;  the  nights 
were  light,  for  the  moon  was  shining  in  her  third 
quarter,  and  it  was  all  one  to  Dick  whether  he 
sculled  or  sat  quiet  in  the  boat ;  so  we  went  away 
at  a  great  pace.  The  evening  sun  shone  bright  on 
the  remains  of  the  old  buildings  at  Medmenham ; 
close  beside  which  arose  an  irregular  pile  of  build- 
ing, which  Dick  told  us  was  a  very  pleasant  house ; 
and  there  were  plenty  of  houses  visible  on  the 
wide  meadows  opposite,  under  the  hill ;  and  we 
had  seen  before  that  the  beauty  of  Hurley  had 
compelled  people  to  build  and  live  there  a  good 
deal.  The  sun,  very  low  down,  showed  us  Henley 
little  altered  in  outward  aspect  from  what  I 
remembered  it.     Actual  daylight  failed  us  as  we 


OR,   AN   EPOCH    OF   REST.  219 

passed  through  the  lovely  reaches  of  Wargrave 
and  Shiplake ;  but  the  moon  rose  behind  us  pres- 
ently. I  should  like  to  have  seen  with  my  eyes 
what  success  the  new  order  of  things  had  had  in 
getting  rid  of  the  sprawling  mess  with  which  com- 
mercialism had  littered  the  banks  of  the  wide 
stream  about  Reading  and  Caversham.  Certainly 
everything  smelt  too  deliciously  in  the  early  night 
for  there  to  be  any  of  the  old  careless  sordidness  of 
so-called  manufacture ;  and  in  answer  to  my  ques- 
tion as  to  what  sort  of  a  place  Reading  was,  Dick 
answered, — 

"  Oh,  a  nice  town  enough  in  its  way ;  mostly 
rebuilt  within  the  last  hundred  years ;  and  there 
are  a  good  many  houses,  as  you  can  see  by  the 
lights  just  down  under  the  hills  yonder.  In 
fact,  it  is  one  of  the  most  populous  places  on  the 
Thames  round  about  here.  Keep  up  your  spirits, 
guest !  we  are  close  to  our  journey's  end  for  the 
night.  I  ought  to  ask  your  pardon  for  not  stopping 
at  one  of  the  houses  here  or  higher  up ;  but  a  friend 
who  is  living  in  a  very  pleasant  house  in  the 
Maple-durham  meads  particularly  wanted  me  and 
Clara  to  come  and  see  him  on  our  way  up  Thames  ; 
and  I  thought  you  would  n't  mind  this  bit  of  night 
travelling." 

He  need  not  have  adjured  me  to  keep  up  my 
spirits,  which  were  as  high  as  possible.  Though 
the  strangeness  and  excitement  of  the  happy  and 
quiet  life  which  I  saw  everywhere  around  me  was, 
it  is  true,  a  little  wearing  off,  yet  a  deep  content, 
as  different  as  possible  from  languid  acquiescence, 
was  taking  its  place,  and  I  was,  as  it  were,  really 
new-born. 


220  NEWS    FROM   NOWHEKE  , 

We  landed  presently  just  where  I  remembered 
the  river  making  an  elbow  to  the  north  towards 
the  ancient  house  of  the  Blunts,  —  with  the  wide 
meadows  spreading  on  the  right-hand  side,  and  on 
the  left  the  long  line  of  beautiful  old  trees  over- 
hanging the  water.  As  we  got  out  of  the  boat, 
I  said  to  Dick, — 

"  Is  it  the  old  house  we  are  going  to  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  though  that  is  standing  still 
in  green  old  age,  and  is  well  inhabited.  I  see, 
by  the  way,  that  you  know  your  Thames  well. 
But  my  friend  Walter  Allen,  who  asked  me  to 
stop  here,  lives  in  a  house,  not  very  big,  which 
has  been  built  here  lately,  because  these  mead- 
ows are  so  much  liked,  especially  in  summer, 
that  there  was  getting  to  be  rather  too  much  of 
tenting  on  the  open  field;  so  the  parishes  here- 
about, who  rather  objected  to  it,  built  three  houses 
between  this  and  Caversham,  and  quite  a  large 
one  at  Basildon,  a  little  higher  up.  Look,  yonder 
are  the  lights  of  Walter  Allen's  house ! " 

So  we  walked  over  the  grass  of  the  meadows 
under  a  flood  of  moonlight,  and  soon  came  to  the 
house,  which  was  low  and  built  round  a  quadrangle 
big  enough  to  get  plenty  of  sunshine  in  it.  Walter 
Allen,  Dick's  friend,  was  leaning  against  the  jamb 
of  the  doorway  waiting  for  us,  and  took  us  into 
the  hall  without  overplus  of  words.  There  were 
not  many  people  in  it,  as  some  of  the  dwellers 
there  were  away  at  the  haymaking  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  some,  as  Walter  told  us,  were  wandering 
about  the  meadow  enjoying  the  beautiful  moonlit 
night.  Dick's  friend  looked  to  be  a  man  of  about 
forty,  —  tall,   black-haired,  very   kind-looking   and 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  221 

thoughtful ;  but  rather  to  my  surprise  there  "was 
a  shade  of  melancholy  on  his  face,  and  he  seemed 
a  little  abstracted  and  inattentive  to  our  chat,  in 
spite  of  obvious  efforts  to  listen. 

Dick  looked  at  him  from  time  to  time,  and 
seemed  troubled ;  and  at  last  he  said :  "  I  say,  old 
fellow,  if  there  is  anything  the  matter  which  we 
did  n't  know  of  when  you  wrote  to  me,  don't  you 
think  you  had  better  tell  us  about  it  at  once  ?  or 
else  we  shall  think  we  have  come  here  at  an 
unlucky  time  and  are  not  quite  wanted." 

Walter  turned  red,  and  seemed  to  have  some 
difficulty  in  restraining  his  tears,  but  said  at  last : 
"  Of  course  everybody  here  is  very  glad  to  see 
you,  Dick,  and  your  friends ;  but  it  is  true  that  we 
are  not  at  our  best,  in  spite  of  the  fine  weather 
and  the  glorious  hay-crop.  We  have  had  a  death 
here." 

Said  Dick :  "  Well,  you  should  get  over  that, 
neighbor ;  such  things  must  be." 

"  Yes,"  Walter  said,  "  but  this  was  a  death  by 
violence,  and  it  seems  likely  to  lead  to  at  least  one 
more ;  and  somehow  it  makes  us  feel  rather  shy 
of  one  another ;  and  to  say  the  truth,  that  is  one 
reason  why  there  are  so  few  of  us  present  to-night." 

"  Tell  us  the  story,  Walter,"  said  Dick ;  "  per- 
haps telling  it  will  help  you  to  shake  off  your 
sadness." 

Said  Walter :  "  Well,  I  will ;  and  I  will  make 
it  short  enough,  though  I  dare  say  it  might  be 
spun  out  into  a  long  one,  as  used  to  be  done 
with  such  subjects  in  the  old  novels.  There  is  a 
very  charming  girl  here  whom  we  all  like,  and 
whom  some  of  us  do  more  than  like ;  and  she  very 


222  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

naturally  liked  one  of  us  better  than  anybody  else. 
And  another  of  us  (I  won't  name  him)  got  fairly 
bitten  with  love-madness,  and  used  to  go  about 
making  himself  as  unpleasant  as  he  could, —  not 
of  malice  prepense,  of  course,  —  so  that  the  girl, 
who  liked  him  well  enough  at  first,  though  she 
did  n't  love  him,  began  fairly  to  dislike  him.  Of 
course,  those  of  us  who  knew  him  best  —  myself 
among  others  —  advised  him  to  go  away,  as  he 
was  making  matters  worse  and  worse  for  himself 
every  day.  Well,  he  wouldn't  take  our  advice 
(that  also,  I  suppose,  was  a  matter  of  course),  so 
we  had  to  tell  him  that  he  must  go,  or  the  inevit- 
l/yable  sending  to  Coventry  would  follow ;  for  his 
individual  trouble  had  so  overmastered  him  that 
we  felt  that  we  must  go  if  he  did  not." 

"He  took  that  better  than  we  expected,  when 
something  or  other  —  an  interview  with  the  girl 
I  think,  and  some  hot  words  with  the  successful 
lover  following  close  upon  it  —  threw  him  quite  off 
his  balance ;  and  he  got  hold  of  an  axe  and  fell 
upon  his  rival  when  there  was  no  one  by;  and 
in  the  struggle  that  followed  the  man  attacked 
hit  him  an  unlucky  blow  and  killed  him.  And 
now  the  slayer  in  his  turn  is  so  upset  that  he  is 
like  to  kill  himself ;  and  if  he  does,  the  girl  will 
do  as  much,  I  fear.  And  all  this  we  could  no  more 
help  than  the  earthquake  of  the  year  before  last." 

"  It  is  very  unhappy,"  said  Dick ;  "  but  since  the 
man  is  dead,  and  cannot  be  brought  to  life  again, 
and  since  the  slayer  had  no  malice  in  him,  I  cannot 
for  the  life  of  me  see  why  he  should  n't  get  over  it 
before  long.  Why  should  a  man  brood  over  a  mere 
accident  forever  ?     And  the  girl  ?  " 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  223 

"As  to  her,"  said  Walter,  "the  whole  thing 
seems  to  have  inspired  her  with  terror  rather  than 
grief.  What  you  say  about  the  man  is  true,  or  it 
should  be ;  but  then,  you  see,  the  excitement  and 
jealousy  that  was  the  prelude  to  this  tragedy  had 
made  an  evil  and  feverish  element  round  about 
him,  from  which  he  does  not  seem  to  be  able  to 
escape.  However,  we  have  advised  him  to  go 
away,  —  in  fact,  to  cross  the  seas  ;  but  he  is  in 
such  a  state  that  I  do  not  think  he  can  go  unless 
some  one  takes  him,  and  I  think  it  will  fall  to  my 
lot  to  do  so ;  which  is  scarcely  a  cheerful  outlook 
for  me." 

"Oh,  you  will  find  a  certain  kind  of  interest 
in  it,"  said  Dick.  "  And  of  course  he  must  look 
upon  the  affair  from  a  reasonable  point  of  view 
sooner  or  later." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,"  quoth  Walter,  "now  that  I 
have  eased  my  mind  by  making  you  uncomfortable, 
let  us  have  an  end  of  the  subject  for  the  present. 
Are  you  going  to  take  your  guest  to  Oxford  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  we  must  pass  through  it,"  said 
Dick,  smiling,  "as  we  are  going  into  the  upper 
waters  ;  but  I  thought  that  we  would  n't  stop  there, 
or  we  shall  be  belated  as  to  the  haymaking  up  our 
way.  So  Oxford  and  my  learned  lecture  on  it,  all 
got  at  second-hand  from  my  old  kinsman,  must  wait 
till  we  come  down  the  water  a  fortnight  hence." 

I  listened  to  all  this  story  with  much  surprise, 
and  could  not  help  wondering  at  first  that  the  man 
who  had  slain  the  other  had  not  been  put  in  custody 
till  it  could  be  proved  that  he  had  killed  his  rival 
in  self-defence  only.  However,  the  more  I  thought 
of  it,  the  plainer  it  grew  to  me  that  no  amount  of 


224  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

examination  of  witnesses,  who  had  witnessed  noth- 
ing but  the  ill-blood  between  the  two  rivals,  would 
have  done  anything  to  clear  up  the  case.  I  could 
not  help  thinking,  also,  that  the  remorse  of  this 
homicide  gave  point  to  what  old  Hammond  had  said 
to  me  about  the  way  in  which  this  strange  people 
dealt  with  what  I  had  been  used  to  hear  called 
crimes.  Truly,  that  remorse  was  exaggerated  ;  but 
it  was  quite  clear  that  the  slayer  took  the  whole 
consequences  of  the  act  upon  himself,  and  did  not 
expect  society  to  whitewash  him  by  punishing  him. 
I  had  no  fear  any  longer  that  "  the  sacredness  of 
human  life  "  was  likely  to  suffer  among  my  friends 
from  the  absence  of  gallows  and  prison. 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  225 


CHAPTEK  XXV. 

STILL    UP   THE   THAMES. 

AS  we  went  down  to  the  boat  next  morning, 
Walter  could  not  quite  keep  off  the  subject 
of  last  night,  though  he  was  more  hopeful  than  he 
had  been  then,  and  seemed  to  think  that  if  the 
unlucky  homicide  could  not  be  got  to  go  over-sea, 
he  might  at  any  rate  go  and  live  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood  pretty  much  by  himself ;  at  any  rate, 
that  was  what  he  himself  had  proposed.  To  Dick, 
and  I  must  say  to  me  also,  this  seemed  a  strange 
remedy  ;  and  Dick  said  as  much.     Quoth  he,  — 

"  Friend  Walter,  don't  set  the  man  brooding  on 
the  tragedy  by  letting  him  live  alone.  That  will 
only  strengthen  his  idea  that  he  has  committed  a 
crime,  and  you  will  have  him  killing  himself  in 
good  earnest." 

Said  Clara :  "  I  don't  know.  If  I  may  say  what 
I  think  of  it,  it  is  that  he  had  better  have  his  fill 
of  gloom  now,  and,  so  to  say,  wake  up  presently  to 
see  how  little  need  there  has  been  for  it ;  and  then 
he  will  live  happily  afterwards.  As  for  his  killing 
himself,  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  that ;  for,  from 
all  you  tell  me,  he  is  really  very  much  in  love  with 
the  woman ;  and  to  speak  plainly,  until  his  love  is 
satisfied,  he  will  not  only  stick  to  life  as  tightly 
as  he  can,  but  will  also  make  the  most  of  every 
event  of  his  life,  —  will,  so  to  say,  hug  himself  up 

15 


22fi  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

in  it ;  and  I  think  that  this  is  the  real  explanation 
of  his  taking  the  whole  matter  with  such  an  excess 
of  tragedy." 

Walter  looked  thoughtful,  and  said  :  "  Well,  you 
may  be  right ;  and  perhaps  we  should  have  treated 
it  all  more  lightly ;  but  you  see,  guest "  (turning 
to  me),  "  such  things  happen  so  seldom,  that  when 
they  do  happen  we  cannot  help  being  much  taken 
up  with  them.  For  the  rest,  we  are  all  inclined  to 
excuse  our  poor  friend  for  making  us  so  unhappy 
on  the  ground  that  he  does  it  out  of  an  exaggerated 
respect  for  human  life  and  its  happiness.  Well,  I 
will  say  no  more  about  it,  —  only  this :  will  you  give 
me  a  cast  up  stream,  as  I  want  to  look  after  a 
lonely  habitation  for  the  poor  fellow,  since  he  will 
have  it  so,  and  I  hear  that  there  is  one  which 
would  suit  us  very  well  on  the  downs  beyond 
Streatley ;  so  if  you  will  put  me  ashore  there  I 
will  walk  up  the  hill  and  look  to  it." 

"  Is  the  house  in  question  empty  ?  "  said  I. 

"  No,"  said  Walter,  "  but  the  man  who  lives 
there  will  go  out  of  it,  of  course,  when  he  hears 
that  we  want  it.  You  see,  we  think  that  the  fresh 
air  of  the  downs  and  the  very  emptiness  of  the 
landscape  will  do  our  friend  good." 

"  Yes,"  said  Clara,  smiling,  "  and  he  will  not  be 
so  far  from  his  beloved  that  they  cannot  easily 
meet  if  they  have  a  mind  to,  —  as  they  certainly 
will." 

This  talk  had  brought  us  down  to  the  boat,  and 
we  were  presently  afloat  on  the  beautiful  broad 
stream,  Dick  driving  the  prow  swiftly  through  the 
windless  water  of  the  early  summer  morning,  for 
it  was  not  yet  six  o'clock.     We  were  at  the  lock  in 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  227 

a  very  little  time ;  and  as  we  lay  rising  and  rising 
on  the  in-coming  water,  I  could  not  help  wondering 
that  my  old  friend  the  pound-lock,  and  that  of  the 
very  simplest  and  most  rural  kind,  should  hold  its 
place  there  ;  so  I  said,  — 

"I  have  been  wondering,  as  we  have  passed  lock 
after  lock,  that  you  people,  so  prosperous  as  you 
are,  and  especially  since  you  are  so  anxious  for 
pleasant  work  to  do,  have  not  invented  something 
which  would  get  rid  of  this  clumsy  business  of  go- 
ing up-stairs  by  means  of  these  rude  contrivances." 

Dick  laughed.  "My  dear  friend,"  said  he,  "as 
long  as  water  has  the  clumsy  habit  of  running 
down  hill,  I  fear  we  must  humor  it  by  going  up- 
stairs when  we  have  our  faces  turned  from  the  sea. 
And  really  I  don't  see  why  you  should  fall  foul  of 
Maple-durham  lock,  which  I  think  a  very  pretty 
place." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  the  latter  assertion,  I 
thought,  as  I  looked  up  at  the  overhanging  boughs 
of  the  great  trees,  with  the  sun  coming  glittering 
through  the  leaves,  and  listened  to  the  song  of  the 
summer  blackbirds  as  it  mingled  with  the  sound  of 
the  backwater  near  us.  So  not  being  able  to  say 
why  I  wanted  the  locks  away  —  which,  indeed,  I 
did  n't  do  at  all  —  I  held  my  peace.  But  Walter 
said,  — 

"  You  see,  guest,  this  is  not  an  age  of  inventions. 
The  last  epoch  did  all  that  for  us,  and  we  are  now 
content  to  use  such  of  their  inventions  as  we  find 
handy,  and  leaving  those  alone  which  we  don't 
want.  I  believe,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  some 
time  ago  (I  can't  give  you  a  date)  some  elaborate 
machinery  was  used  for  the  locks,  though  people 


228  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

did  n't  go  so  far  as  to  try  to  make  the  water  run  up- 
hill. However,  it  was  troublesome,  I  suppose,  and 
the  simple  hatches,  and  the  gates  with  a  big  coun- 
terpoising beam,  were  found  to  answer  every  pur- 
pose, and  were  easily  mended  when  wanted  with 
material  always  to  hand ;  so  here  they  are,  as  you 
see." 

"Besides,"  said  Dick,  "this  kind  of  lock  is 
pretty,  as  you  can  see ;  and  I  can't  help  thinking 
that  your  machine-lock,  winding  up  like  a  watch, 
would  have  been  ugly  and  would  have  spoiled  the 
look  of  the  river  ;  and  that  is  surely  reason  enough 
for  keeping  such  locks  as  these.  Good-by,  old 
fellow  ! "  said  he  to  the  lock,  as  he  pushed  us  out 
through  the  now  open  gates  by  a  vigorous  stroke 
of  the  boat-hook.  "  May  you  live  long,  and  have 
your  green  old  age  renewed  forever ! " 

On  we  went;  and  the  water  had  the  familiar 
aspect  to  me  of  the  days  before  Pangbourne  had 
been  thoroughly  cocknified  as  I  have  seen  it.  It 
(Pangbourne)  was  distinctly  a  village  still,  —  i.  e., 
a  definite  group  of  houses,  and  as  pretty  as  might 
be.  The  beech-woods  still  covered  the  hill  that 
rose  above  Basildon;  but  the  flat  fields  beneath 
them  were  much  more  populous  than  I  remembered 
them,  as  there  were  five  large  houses  in  sight,  very 
carefully  designed  so  as  not  to  hurt  the  character 
of  the  country.  Down  on  the  green  lip  of  the 
river,  just  where  the  water  turns  toward  the  Goring 
and  Streatley  reaches,  were  half  a  dozen  girls  play- 
ing about  on  the  grass.  They  hailed  us  as  we  were 
about  passing  them,  as  they  noted  that  we  were 
travellers,  and  we  stopped  a  minute  to  talk  with 
them.     They  had  been  bathing,  and  were  light-clad 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  229 

and  bare-footed,  and  were  bound  for  the  meadows 
on  the  Berkshire  side,  where  the  haymaking  had 
begun.  At  first  nothing  would  content  them  but 
we  must  go  with  them  into  the  hayfield,  and  break- 
fast with  them ;  but  Dick  put  forward  his  theory 
of  beginning  the  hay-harvest  higher  up  the  water, 
and  not  spoiling  my  pleasure  therein  by  giving  me 
a  taste  of  it  elsewhere,  and  they  gave  way,  though 
unwillingly.  In  revenge  they  asked  me  a  great 
many  questions  about  the  country  I  came  from  and 
the  manners  of  life  there,  which  I  found  rather 
puzzling  to  answer;  and  doubtless  what  answers 
I  did  give  were  puzzling  enough  to  them.  I  no- 
ticed, both  with  these  pretty  girls  and  with  every- 
body else  we  met,  that  in  default  of  serious  news, 
such  as  we  had  heard  at  Maple-durham,  they  were 
eager  to  discuss  all  the  little  details  of  life,  —  the 
weather,  the  hay-crop,  the  last  new  house,  the 
plenty  or  lack  of  such  and  such  birds,  and  so  on ; 
and  they  talked  of  these  things,  not  in  a  fatuous 
and  conventional  way,  but  as  taking,  I  say,  real  in- 
terest in  them.  Moreover,  I  found  that  the  women 
knew  as  much  about  all  these  things  as  the  men ; 
could  name  a  flower,  and  knew  its  qualities  ;  could 
tell  you  the  habitat  of  such  and  such  birds  and 
fish,  and  the  like. 

It  is  almost  strange  what  a  difference  this  intelli- 
gence made  in  my  estimate  of  the  country  life  of 
that  day ;  for  it  used  to  be  said  in  past  times,  and 
on  the  whole  truly,  that  outside  their  daily  work 
country  people  knew  little  of  the  country,  and  at 
least  could  tell  you  nothing  about  it ;  while  here 
were  these  people  as  eager  about  all  the  goings- 
on  in  the  fields  and  woods  and  downs  as  if  they 


230  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

had  been  cockneys  newly  escaped  from  the  tyranny 
of  bricks  and  mortar. 

I  may  mention  as  a  detail  worth  noticing  that 
not  only  did  there  seem  to  be  a  great  many  more 
birds  about  of  the  non-predatory  kinds,  but  their 
enemies  the  birds  of  prey  were  also  commoner.  A 
kite  hung  over  our  heads  as  we  passed  Medmenham 
yesterday ;  magpies  were  quite  common  in  the 
hedgerows ;  I  saw  several  sparrow-hawks,  and  I 
think  a  merlin ;  and  now  just  as  we  were  passing 
the  pretty  bridge  which  had  taken  the  place  of 
Basildon  railway-bridge,  a  couple  of  ravens  croaked 
above  our  boat,  as  they  sailed  off  to  the  higher 
ground  of  the  downs.  I  concluded  from  all  this 
that  the  days  of  the  game-keeper  were  over,  and 
did  not  even  need  to  ask  Dick  a  question  about  it. 


OK,  AN   EPOCH   OF   BEST.  231 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    UPPER    WATERS. 

WE  set  Walter  ashore  on  the  Berkshire  side, 
amid  all  the  beauties  of  Streatley,  and  so 
went  our  ways  into  what  once  would  have  been  the 
deeper  country  under  the  foot-hills  of  the  White 
Horse ;  and  though  the  contrast  between  half- 
cocknified  and  wholly  unsophisticated  country  ex- 
isted no  longer,  a  feeling  of  exultation  rose  within 
me  (as  it  used  to  do)  at  sight  of  the  familiar  and 
still  unchanged  hills  of  the  Berkshire  range. 

We  stopped  at  Wallingford  for  our  mid-day  meal ; 
and  though  of  course  all  signs  of  squalor  and  pov- 
erty had  disappeared  from  the  streets  of  the  ancient 
town,  and  many  ugly  houses  had  been  taken  down 
and  many  pretty  new  ones  built,  I  thought  it  curi- 
ous that  the  town  still  looked  like  the  old  place  I 
remembered  so  well ;  for  indeed  it  looked  like  that 
ought  to  have  looked. 

At  dinner  we  fell  in  with  an  old,  but  very  bright 
and  intelligent  man,  who  seemed  in  a  country  way 
to  be  another  edition  of  old  Hammond.  He  had  an 
extraordinary  detailed  knowledge  of  the  ancient  his- 
tory of  the  country-side  from  the  time  of  Alfred  to 
the  days  of  the  Parliamentary  Wars,  many  events 
of  which,  as  you  may  know,  were  enacted  round 
about  Wallingford.     But  what  was  more  interest- 


232  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

ing  to  us,  he  had  detailed  record  of  the  period  of 
the  change  to  the  present  state  of  things,  and  told 
us  a  great  deal  about  it,  and  especially  of  that  exo- 
dus of  the  people  from  the  town  to  the  country,  and 
the  gradual  recovery  by  the  town-bred  people  on  one 
side  and  the  country-bred  people  on  the  other,  of 
those  arts  of  life  which  they  had  each  lost ;  which 
loss,  as  he  told  us,  had  at  one  time  gone  so  far  that 
not  only  was  it  impossible  to  find  a  carpenter  or  a 
smith  in  a  village  or  small  country  town,  but  that 
people  in  such  places  had  even  forgotten  how  to 
bake  bread,  and  that  at  Wallingford,  for  instance, 
the  bread  came  down  with  the  newspapers  by  an 
early  train  from  London,  worked  in  some  way,  the 
explanation  of  which  I  could  not  understand.  He 
told  us  also  that  the  townspeople  who  came  into  the 
country  used  to  pick  up  the  agricultural  arts  by 
carefully  watching  the  way  in  which  the  machines 
worked,  gathering  an  idea  of  handicraft  from  ma- 
chinery ;  because  at  that  time  almost  everything  in 
and  about  the  fields  was  done  by  elaborate  machines 
used  quite  unintelligently  by  the  laborers.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  old  men  among  the  laborers  man- 
aged to  teach  the  younger  ones  gradually  a  little 
artisanship,  —  such  as  the  use  of  the  saw  and  the 
plane,  the  work  of  the  smithy,  and  so  forth;  for 
once  more,  by  that  time  it  was  as  much  as  —  or 
rather,  more  than  —  a  man  could  do  to  fix  an 
ash  pole  to  a  rake  by  handiwork ;  so  it  would  take 
a  machine  worth  a  thousand  pounds,  and  a  group 
of  workmen,  to  do  five  shillings'  worth  of  work. 
He  showed  us,  among  other  things,  an  account  of 
a  certain  village  council  who  were  working  hard  at 
all  this  business,  and  the  record  of  their  intense 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  233 

earnestness  in  getting  to  the  bottom  of  some  mat- 
ter which  in  time  past  would  have  been  thought 
quite  trivial,  as,  for  example,  the  due  proportions 
of  alkali  and  oil  for  soap-making  for  the  village 
wash,  or  the  exact  heat  of  the  water  into  which  a 
leg  of  mutton  should  be  plunged  for  boiling.  All 
this,  joined  to  the  utter  absence  of  anything  like 
party  feeling,  which  even  in  a  village  assembly 
would  certainly  have  made  its  appearance  in  an 
earlier  epoch,  was  very  amusing,  and  at  the  same 
time  instructive. 

This  old  man,  whose  name  was  Henry  Morsom, 
took  us,  after  our  meal  and  a  rest,  into  a  biggish 
hall,  which  contained  a  large  collection  of  articles 
of  manufacture  and  art  from  the  last  days  of  the 
machine  period  to  that  day ;  and  he  went  over  them 
with  us  and  explained  them  with  great  care.  They 
also  were  very  interesting,  showing  the  transition 
from  the  makeshift  work  of  the  machines  (which 
was  at  about  its  worst  a  little  after  the  Civil  War 
before  told  of)  into  the  first  years  of  the  new  handi- 
craft period.  Of  course,  there  was  much  overlap- 
ping of  the  periods  ;  and  at  first  the  new  hand-work 
came  in  very  slowly. 

"  You  must  remember,"  said  the  old  antiquary, 
"that  the  handicraft  was  not  the  result  of  what 
used  to  be  called  material  necessity.  On  the  con- 
trary, by  that  time  the  machines  had  been  so  much 
improved  that  almost  all  necessary  work  might  have 
been  done  by  them ;  and  indeed  many  people  at  that 
time  and  before  it  used  to  think  that  machinery 
would  entirely  supersede  handicraft ;  which  cer- 
tainly, on  the  face  of  it,  seemed  more  than  likely. 
But  there  was   another  opinion,  far  less   logical, 


234  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

prevalent  among  the  rich  people  before  the  days 
of  freedom,  which  did  not  die  out  at  once  after  that 
epoch  had  begun.  This  opinion,  which  from  all  I 
can  learn  seemed  as  natural  then  as  it  seems  ab- 
surd now,  was,  that  while  the  ordinary  daily  work 
of  the  world  would  be  done  entirely  by  automatic 
machinery,  the  energies  of  the  more  intelligent  part 
of  mankind  would  be  set  free  to  follow  the  higher 
forms  of  the  arts  as  well  as  science  and  the  study 
of  history.  It  was  strange,  was  it  not,  that  they 
should  thus  ignore  that  aspiration  after  complete 
equality  which  we  now  recognize  as  the  bond  of  all 
happy  human  society  ?  " 

I  did  not  answer,  but  thought  the  more.  Dick 
looked  thoughtful,  and  said,  — 

"  Strange,  neighbor  ?  Well,  I  don't  know.  I 
have  often  heard  my  old  kinsman  say  that  the  one 
aim  of  all  people  before  our  time  was  to  avoid  work, 
or  at  least  they  thought  it  was ;  so  of  course  the 
work  which  their  daily  life  forced  them  to  do  seemed 
more  like  work  than  that  which  they  seemed  to  choose 
for  themselves." 

"  True  enough,"  said  Morsom.  "  Anyhow,  they 
soon  began  to  find  out  their  mistake,  and  that  only 
slaves  and  slaveholders  could  live  solely  by  setting 
machines  going." 

Clara  broke  in  here,  flushing  a  little  as  she  spoke : 
"  Was  not  their  mistake  once  more  bred  of  the  life 
of  slavery  that  they  had  been  living  ?  —  a  life  which 
was  always  looking  upon  everything,  except  man- 
kind, animate  and  inanimate  — '  nature,'  as  people 
used  to  call  it  —  as  one  thing,  and  mankind  as  an- 
other. It  was  natural  to  people  thinking  in  this 
way  that  they  should  try  to  make  '  nature '  their 


OR,   AN   EPOCH    OF   REST.  235 

slave,  since  they  thought  '  nature '  was  something 
outside   them." 

"  Surely,"  said  Morsom  ;  "  and  they  were  puzzled 
as  to  what  to  do,  till  they  found  the  feeling  against 
a  mechanical  life,  which  had  begun  before  the 
Great  Change  among  people  who  had  leisure  to 
think  of  such  things,  was  spreading  insensibly,  till 
at  last  under  the  guise  of  pleasure  that  was  not 
supposed  to  be  work,  work  that  was  pleasure  began 
to  push  out  the  mechanical  toil,  which  they  had 
once  hoped  at  the  best  to  reduce  to  narrow  limits 
indeed,  but  never  to  get  rid  of ;  and  which,  moreover, 
they  found  they  could  not  limit  as  they  had  hoped 
to  do." 

"  When  did  this  new  revolution  gather  head  ?  " 
said  I. 

"  In  the  half-century  that  followed  the  Great 
Change,"  said  Morsom,  "  it  began  to  be  notewor- 
thy; machine  after  machine  was  quietly  dropped 
under  the  excuse  that  the  machines  could  not  pro- 
duce works  of  art,  and  that  works  of  art  were  more 
and  more  called  for.  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  here 
are  some  of  the  works  of  that  time,  —  rough  and 
unskilful  in  handiwork,  but  solid  and  showing  some 
sense  of  pleasure  in  the  making." 

"  They  are  very  curious,"  said  I,  taking  up  a 
piece  of  pottery  from  among  the  specimens  which 
the  antiquary  was  showing  us  ;  "  not  a  bit  like  the 
work  of  either  savages  or  barbarians,  and  yet  with 
what  would  once  have  been  called  a  hatred  of 
civilization  impressed  upon  them." 

"  Yes,"  said  Morsom,  "  you  must  not  look  for 
delicacy  there  ;  in  that  period  you  could  only  have 
got  that  from  a  man  who  was  practically  a  slave. 


t 


236  NEWS   FBOM   NOWHERE, 

But  now,  you  see,"  said  he,  leading  me  on  a  little, 
"  we  have  learned  the  trick  of  handicraft,  and  have 
added  the  utmost  refinement  of  workmanship  to 
the  freedom  of  fancy  and  imagination." 

I  looked,  and  wondered  indeed  on  the  deftness 
and  abundance  of  beauty  of  the  work  of  men  who 
had  at  last  learned  to  accept  life  itself  as  a  pleas- 
ure, and  the  satisfaction  of  the  common  needs  of 
mankind  and  the  preparation  for  them  as  work  fit 
for  the  best  of  the  race.  I  mused  silently ;  but  at 
last  I  said,  — 

"  What  is  to  come  after  this  ?  " 

The  old  man  laughed.  "  I  don't  know,"  said  he  ; 
"  we  will  meet  it  when  it  comes." 

"  Meanwhile,"  quoth  Dick,  "  we  have  got  to  meet 
the  rest  of  our  day's  journey ;  so  out  into  the  street 
and  down  to  the  strand.  Will  you  come  a  turn  with 
us,  neighbor  ?    Our  friend  is  greedy  of  your  stories." 

"  I  will  go  as  far  as  Oxford  with  you,"  said  he  ; 
"  I  want  a  book  or  two  out  of  the  Bodleian  Library. 
I  suppose  you  will  sleep  in  the  old  city  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Dick,  "we  are  going  higher  up;  the 
hay  is  waiting  us  there,  you  know." 

Morsom  nodded,  and  we  all  went  into  the  street 
together,  and  got  into  the  boat  just  above  the  town 
bridge.  But  just  as  Dick  was  getting  the  sculls 
into  the  rowlocks,  the  bows  of  another  boat  came 
thrusting  through  the  low  arch.  Even  at  first 
sight  it  was  a  gay  little  craft  indeed,  —  bright 
green,  and  painted  over  with  elegantly  drawn  flow- 
ers. As  it  clerred  the  arch,  a  figure  as  bright  and 
gay-clad  as  the  boat  rose  up  in  it,  —  a  slim  girl 
dressed  in  light  blue  silk  that  fluttered  in  the 
draughty  wind  of  the  bridge.     I  thought  I  knew 


OR,    AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  237 

the  figure,  and  sure  enough,  as  she  turned  her  head 
to  us,  and  showed  her  beautiful  face,  I  saw  with 
joy  that  it  was  none  other  than  the  fairy  godmother 
from  the  abundant  garden  on  Runnymede,  —  Ellen, 
to  wit. 

We  all  stopped  to  receive  her.  Dick  rose  in  the 
boat  and  cried  out  a  genial  good-morrow ;  I  tried  to 
be  as  genial  as  Dick,  but  failed ;  Clara  waved  a 
delicate  hand  to  her ;  and  Morsom  nodded  and 
looked  on  with  interest.  As  to  Ellen,  the  beauti- 
ful brown  of  her  face  was  deepened  by  a  flush  as 
she  brought  the  gunwale  of  her  boat  alongside  ours, 
and  said,  — 

"  You  see,  neighbors,  I  had  some  doubt  if  you 
would  all  three  come  back  past  Runnymede,  or  if 
you  did,  whether  you  would  stop  there  ;  and  be- 
sides, I  am  not  sure  whether  we  —  my  father  and  1 
—  shall  not  be  away  in  a  week  or  two,  for  he  wants 
to  see  a  brother  of  his  in  the  north  country,  and  I 
should  not  like  him  to  go  without  me.  So  I  thought 
I  might  never  see  you  again,  and  that  seemed  uncom- 
fortable to  me,  and  —  and  so  I  came  after  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Dick,  "  I  am  sure  we  are  all  very 
glad  of  that ;  although  you  may  be  sure  that  as  for 
Clara  and  me,  we  should  have  made  a  point  of  com- 
ing to  see  you,  and  of  coming  the  second  time 
if  we  had  found  you  away  the  first  time.  But, 
dear  neighbor,  there  you  are  alone  in  the  boat,  and 
you  have  been  sculling  pretty  hard,  I  should  think, 
and  might  find  a  little  quiet  sitting  pleasant;  so 
we  had  better  part  our  company  into  two." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  thought  you  would  do 
that,  so  I  have  brought  a  rudder  for  my  boat ;  will 
you  help  me  to  ship  it,  please  ?  " 


238  NEWS  FROM  nowhere; 

And  she  went  aft  in  her  boat  and  pushed  along 
our  side  till  she  had  brought  the  stern  close  to 
Dick's  hand.  He  knelt  down  in  our  boat  and  she 
in  hers,  and  the  usual  fumbling  took  place  over 
hanging  the  rudder  on  its  hooks  ;  for,  as  you  may 
imagine,  no  change  had  taken  place  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  such  an  unimportant  matter  as  the  rudder 
of  a  pleasure-boat.  As  the  two  beautiful  young 
faces  bent  over  the  rudder  they  seemed  to  me  to 
be  very  close  together,  and  though  it  only  lasted  a 
moment,  a  sort  of  pang  shot  through  me  as  I  looked 
on.  Clara  sat  in  her  place  and  did  not  look  round, 
but  presently  she  said,  with  just  the  least  stiffness 
in  her  tone,  — 

"  How  shall  we  divide  ?  Won't  you  go  into 
Ellen's  boat,  Dick,  since,  without  offence  to  our 
guest,  you  are  the  better  sculler." 

Dick  stood  up  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder, 
and  said  :  "  No,  no ;  let  Guest  try  what  he  can  do, 
—  he  ought  to  be  getting  into  training  now.  Be- 
sides, we  are  in  no  hurry,  —  we  are  not  going  far 
above  Oxford ;  and  even  if  we  are  benighted,  we 
shall  have  the  moon,  which  will  give  us  nothing 
worse  of  a  night  than  a  grayer  day." 

"  Besides,"  said  I,  "  I  may  manage  to  do  a  little 
more  with  my  sculling  than  merely  keeping  the 
boat  from  drifting  down  stream." 

They  all  laughed  at  this,  as  if  it  had  been  a  very 
good  joke  ;  and  I  thought  that  Ellen's  laugh,  even 
among  the  others,  was  one  of  the  pleasantest 
sounds  I  had  ever  heard. 

To  be  short,  I  got  into  the  new-come  boat,  not  a 
little  elated,  and  taking  the  sculls,  set  to  work  to 
show  off  a  little.     For  —  must  I  say  it  ?  —  I  felt  as 


OR,   AN   EPOCH    OF    REST.  239 

if  even  that  happy  world  were  made  the  happier 
for  my  being  so  near  this  strange  girl ;  although  I 
must  say  of  all  the  persons  I  had  seen  in  that  world 
renewed,  she  was  the  most  unfamiliar  to  me,  the 
most  unlike  what  I  could  have  thought  of.  Clara, 
for  instance,  beautiful  and  bright  as  she  was,  was 
not  unlike  a  very  pleasant  and  unaffected  young 
lady ;  and  the  other  girls  also  seemed  nothing 
more  than  specimens  of  very  much  improved  types 
which  I  had  known  in  other  times.  But  this  girl 
was  not  only  beautiful  with  a  beauty  quite  different 
from  that  of  "  a  young  lady,"  but  was  in  all  ways  so 
strangely  interesting ;  so  that  I  kept  wondering  what 
she  would  say  or  do  next  to  surprise  and  please 
me.  Not,  indeed,  that  there  was  anything  startling 
in  what  she  actually  said  or  did ;  but  it  was  all  done 
in  a  new  way,  and  always  with  that  indefinable  in- 
terest and  pleasure  of  life,  which  I  had  noticed 
more  or  less  in  everybody,  but  which  in  her  was 
more  marked  and  more  charming  than  in  any  one 
else  that  I  had  seen. 

We  were  soon  under  way  and  going  at  a  fair  pace 
through  the  beautiful  reaches  of  the  river  between 
Bensington  and  Dorchester.  It  was  now  about  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,  warm  rather  than  hot,  and 
quite  windless ;  the  clouds  high  up  and  light,  pearly 
white  and  gleaming,  softened  the  sun's  burning, 
but  did  not  hide  the  pale  blue  in  most  places, 
though  they  seemed  to  give  it  height  and  consis- 
tency. The  sky,  in  short,  looked  really  like  a 
vault,  as  poets  have  sometimes  called  it,  and  not  like 
mere  limitless  air,  but  a  vault  so  vast  and  full  of 
light  that  it  did  not  any  way  oppress  the  spirits. 
It  was  the  sort  of  afternoon  that  Tennyson  must 


240  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  J 

have  been  thinking  about  when  he  said  of  the 
Lotos-Eaters'  land  that  it  was  a  land  where  it  was 
always  afternoon. 

Ellen  leaned  back  in  the  stern  and  seemed  to 
enjoy  herself  thoroughly.  I  could  see  that  she 
was  really  looking  at  things  and  let  nothing  escape 
her,  and  as  I  watched  her,  an  uncomfortable  feeling 
that  she  had  been  a  little  touched  by  love  of  the 
deft,  ready,  and  handsome  Dick,  and  that  she  had 
been  constrained  to  follow  us  because  of  it,  faded 
out  of  my  mind ;  since  if  it  had  been  so,  she  surely 
could  not  have  been  so  excitedly  pleased  even  with 
the  beautiful  scenes  we  were  passing  through.  For 
some  time  she  did  not  say  much,  but  at  last,  as  we 
had  passed  under  Shillingford  Bridge  (new-built, 
but  somewhat  on  its  old  lines),  she  bade  me  hold 
the  boat  while  she  had  a  good  look  at  the  landscape 
through  the  graceful  arch.  Then  she  turned  about 
to  me  and  said,  — 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  to  be  sorry  or  glad  that 
this  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  been  in  these 
reaches.  It  is  true  that  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to 
see  all  this  for  the  first  time ;  but  if  I  had  had  a 
year  or  two  of  memory  of  it,  how  sweetly  it  would 
all  have  mingled  with  my  life,  waking  or  dreaming  ! 
I  am  so  glad  Dick  has  been  pulling  slowly,  so  as  to 
linger  out  the  time  here.  How  do  you  feel  about 
your  first  visit  to  these  waters  ?  " 

I  do  not  suppose  she  meant  a  trap  for  me,  but 
anyhow  I  fell  into  it,  and  said :  "  My  first  visit ! 
It  is  not  my  first  visit  by  many  times.  I  know 
these  reaches  well ;  indeed,  I  may  say  that  I  know 
every  yard  of  the  Thames  from  Hammersmith  to 
Cricklade." 


OK,   AN    EPOCH    OF   REST.  241 

I  saw  the  complications  that  might  follow,  as 
her  eyes  fixed  mine  with  a  curious  look  in  them, 
that  I  had  seen  before  at  Runnymede  when  I  had 
said  something  which  made  it  difficult  for  others 
to  understand  my  present  position  among  these 
people.  I  reddened,  and  said,  in  order  to  cover  my 
mistake :  "  I  wonder  you  have  never  been  up  so 
high  as  this,  since  you  live  on  the  Thames,  and 
moreover  row  so  well  that  it  would  be  no  great 
labor  to  you.  Let  alone,"  quoth  I,  insinuatingly, 
"that  anybody  would  be  glad  to  row  you." 

She  laughed,  clearly  not  at  my  compliment  (as  I 
am  sure  she  need  not  have  done,  as  it  was  a  very 
commonplace  fact),  but  at  something  which  was 
stirring  in  her  mind ;  and  she  still  looked  at  me 
kindly,  but  with  the  above-said  keen  look  in  her 
eyes,  and  then  she  said,  — 

"Well,  perhaps  it  is  strange,  though  I  have  a 
good  deal  to  do  at  home,  what  with  looking  after 
my  father,  and  dealing  with  two  or  three  young 
men  who  have  taken  a  special  liking  to  me,  and  all 
of  whom  I  cannot  please  at  once.  But  you,  dear 
neighbor  ;  it  seems  to  me  stranger  that  you  should 
know  the  upper  river  than  that  I  should  not  know 
it ;  for,  as  I  understand,  you  have  only  been  in 
England  a  few  days.  But  perhaps  you  mean  that 
you  have  read  about  it  in  books,  and  seen  pictures 
of  it,  —  though  that  don't  come  to  much,  either." 

"  Truly,"  said  I.  "  Besides,  I  have  not  read  any 
books  about  the  Thames ;  it  was  one  of  the  minor 
stupidities  of  our  time  that  no  one  thought  fit  to 
write  a  decent  book  about  what  may  fairly  be  called 
our  only  English  river." 

The  words  were  no  sooner  out  of  my  mouth  than 
16 


242  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

I  saw  that  I  had  made  another  mistake  ;  and  I  felt 
really  annoyed  with  myself,  as  I  did  not  want  to 
go  into  a  long  explanation  just  then,  or  begin  an- 
other series  of  Odyssean  lies.  Somehow  Ellen 
seemed  to  see  this,  and  she  took  no  advantage  of 
my  slip ;  her  piercing  look  changed  into  one  of 
mere  frank  kindness,  and  she  said,  — 

"Well,  anyhow  I  am  glad  that  I  am  travelling 
these  waters  with  you,  since  you  know  our  river  so 
well,  and  I  know  little  of  it  past  Pangbourne,  for 
you  can  tell  me  all  I  want  to  know  about  it."  She 
paused  a  minute,  and  then  said :  "  Yet  you  must 
understand  that  the  part  I  do  know,  I  know  as 
thoroughly  as  you  do.  I  should  be  sorry  for  you 
to  think  that  I  am  careless  of  a  thing  so  beautiful 
and  interesting  as  the  Thames." 

She  said  this  quite  earnestly,  and  with  an  air  of 
affectionate  appeal  to  me  which  pleased  me  very 
much ;  but  I  could  see  that  she  was  only  keeping 
her  doubts  about  me  for  another  time. 

Presently  we  came  to  Day's  Lock,  where  Dick 
and  his  two  sitters  had  waited  for  us.  He  would 
have  me  go  ashore,  as  if  to  show  me  something 
which  I  had  never  seen  before  ;  and  nothing  loath 
I  followed  him,  Ellen  by  my  side,  to  the  well- 
remembered  Dykes,  and  the  long  church  beyond 
them,  which  was  still  used  for  various  purposes  by 
the  good  folk  of  Dorchester,  —  where,  by  the  way, 
the  village  guest-house  still  had  the  sign  of  the 
Fleur-de-luce  which  it  used  to  bear  in  the  days 
when  hospitality  had  to  be  bought  and  sold.  This 
time,  however,  I  made  no  sign  of  all  this  being 
familiar  to  me  ;  though  as  we  sat  for  a  while  on 
the  mound  of  the  Dykes  looking  up  at   Sinodun 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   EEST.  243 

and  its  clear-cut  trench,  and  its  sister  manelon  of 
Whittenham,  I  felt  somewhat  uncomfortable  under 
Ellen's  serious,  attentive  look,  which  almost  drew 
from  me  the  cry,  "  How  little  anything  is  changed 
here ! " 

We  stopped  again  at  Abingdon,  which,  like 
Wallingf ord,  was  in  a  way  both  old  and  new  to  me, 
since  it  had  been  lifted  out  of  its  nineteenth-cent- 
ury degradation,  and  otherwise  was  as  little  altered 
as  might  be. 

Sunset  was  in  the  sky  as  we  skirted  Oxford  by 
Oseney.  It  was  a  matter  of  course  that  so  far  as 
they  could  be  seen  from  the  river,  I  missed  none 
of  the  towers  and  spires  of  that  once  don-bericlden 
city;  but  the  meadows  all  round,  which,  when  I 
had  last  passed  through  them,  were  getting  daily 
more  and  more  squalid,  more  and  more  impressed 
with  the  seal  of  the  "stir  and  intellectual  life  of 
the  nineteenth  century,"  were  no  longer  intellectual, 
but  had  once  again  become  as  beautiful  as  they 
should  be,  and  the  little  hill  of  Hinksey,  with  two 
or  three  very  pretty  stone  houses  new-grown  on 
it  (I  use  the  word  advisedly ;  for  they  seemed  to 
belong  to  it)  looked  down  happily  on  the  full 
streams  and  waving  grass,  gray  now,  but  for  the 
sunset,  with  its  fast-ripening  seeds. 

The  railway  having  disappeared,  and  therewith 
the  various  level  bridges  over  the  streams  of 
Thames,  we  were  soon  through  Medley  Lock  and 
in  the  wide  water  that  washes  Port  Meadow,  with 
its  numerous  population  of  geese  nowise  dimin- 
ished ;  and  I  thought  with  interest  how  its  name 
and  use  had  survived  from  the  older  imperfect 
communal  period,  through  the  time  of  the  confused 


l!44  NEWS    FROM   NOWHERE", 

struggle  and  tyranny  of  the  rights  of  property, 
into  the  present  rest  and  happiness  of  complete 
Communism. 

I  was  taken  ashore  again  at  Godstow,  to  see  the 
remains  of  the  old  nunnery,  pretty  nearly  in  the 
same  condition  as  I  remembered  them ;  and  from 
the  high  bridge  over  the  cut  close  by  I  could  see, 
even  in  the  twilight,  how  beautiful  the  little 
village  with  its  gray  stone  houses  had  become ; 
for  we  had  now  come  into  the  stone-country,  in 
which  every  house  must  be  either  built,  walls  and 
roof,  of  gray  stone  or  be  a  blot  on  the  landscape. 

We  still  rowed  on  after  this,  Ellen  taking  the 
sculls  in  my  boat ;  passed  a  weir  a  little  higher  up, 
and  about  three  miles  beyond  it  came  by  moonlight 
again  to  a  little  town,  where  we  slept  at  a  house 
thinly  inhabited,  as  its  folk  were  mostly  tented  in 
the  hay-fields.  We  started  before  six  o'clock  the 
next  morning,  as  we  were  still  twenty-five  miles 
from  our  resting-place,  and  Dick  wanted  to  be 
there  before  dusk.  The  journey  was  pleasant, 
though  to  those  who  do  not  know  the  upper 
Thames  there  is  little  to  say  about  it.  Ellen  and 
I  were  once  more  in  her  boat,  though  Dick,  for 
fairness'  sake,  was  for  having  me  in  his,  and  let- 
ting the  two  women  scull  the  green  toy.  Ellen, 
however,  would  not  allow  this,  but  claimed  me  as 
the  interesting  person  of  the  company.  "After 
having  come  so  far,"  said  she,  "  I  will  not  be  put 
off  with  a  companion  who  will  be  always  thinking 
of  somebody  else  than  me  ;  the  guest  is  the  only 
person  Avho  can  amuse  me  properly.  I  mean  that 
really."  said  she,  turning  to  me.  "and  have  not 
said  it  merely  as  a  pretty  saying." 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  245 

Clara  blushed  and  looked  very  happy  at  all  this, 
for  I  think  up  to  this  time  she  had  been  rather 
frightened  of  Ellen. 

As  we  passed  through  the  short  and  winding 
reaches  of  the  now  quickly  lessening  stream,  Ellen 
said :  "  How  pleasant  this  little  river  is  to  me, 
who  am  used  to  a  great  wide  wash  of  water;  it 
almost  seems  as  if  we  shall  have  to  stop  at  every 
reach-end.  I  expect  before  I  get  home  this  even- 
ing I  shall  have  realized  what  a  little  country 
England  is,  since  we  can  so  soon  get  to  the  end  of 
its  biggest  river." 

"  It  is  not  big,"  said  I,  "  but  it  is  pretty." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  and  don't  you  find  it  difficult 
to  imagine  the  times  when  this  little  pretty  coun- 
try was  treated  by  its  folk  as  if  it  had  been  an  ugly, 
characterless  waste,  with  no  delicate  beauty  to  be 
guarded,  with  no  heed  taken  of  the  ever  fresh  pleas- 
ure of  the  recurring  seasons,  and  changeful  weather, 
and  diverse  quality  of  the  soil,  and  so  forth  ?  How 
could  people  be  so  cruel  to  themselves  ?  " 

"And  to  each  other,"  said  I.  "Dear  neighbor, 
I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once  that  I  find  it  easier 
to  imagine  all  that  ugly  past  than  you  do,  because 
I  myself  have  been  part  of  it.  I  see  both  that  you 
have  divined  something  of  this  in  me  ;  and  also 
I  think  you  will  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  of  it, 
so  that  I  am  going  to  hide  nothing  from  you  at  all. 

She  was  silent  a  little,  and  then  she  said  :  "  My 
friend,  you  have  guessed  right  about  me  ;  and,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  followed  you  up  from 
Runny  mede  in  order  that  I  might  ask  you  many 
questions,  and  because  I  saw  that  you  were  not  one 
of  us ;  and  that  interested  and  pleased  me,  and  I 


246  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

wanted  to  make  you  as  happy  as  you  could  be.  To 
say  the  truth,  there  was  a  risk  in  it,"  said  she, 
blushing,  —  "I  mean  as  to  Dick  and  Clara ;  for  I 
must  tell  you,  since  we  are  going  to  be  such  close 
friends,  that  even  among  us,  where  there  are  so 
many  beautiful  women,  I  have  often  troubled  men's 
minds  disastrously.  That  is  one  reason  why  I  was 
living  alone  with  my  father  in  the  cottage  at  Runny- 
mede.  But  it  did  not  answer  on  that  score  ;  for  of 
course  people  came  there,  as  the  place  is  not  a  des- 
ert, and  they  seemed  to  find  me  all  the  more  inter- 
esting for  living  alone  like  that,  and  fell  to  making 
stories  of  me  to  themselves,  — like  I  know  you  did, 
my  friend.  Well,  let  that  pass.  This  evening  or 
to-morrow  morning  I  shall  make  a  proposal  to  you 
to  do  something  which  would  please  me  very  much, 
and  I  think  would  not  hurt  you." 

I  broke  in  eagerly,  saying  that  I  would  do  any- 
thing in  the  world  for  her ;  for  indeed,  in  spite  of 
my  years  and  the  too  obvious  signs  of  them  (though, 
indeed,  I  felt  much  younger  already  than  when  I 
first  woke  up  in  that  new  world),  —  in  spite  of  my 
years,  I  say,  I  felt  altogether  too  happy  in  the 
company  of  this  delightful  girl,  and  was  prepared 
to  take  her  confidences  for  more  than  they  meant, 
perhaps. 

She  laughed  now.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  meantime 
for  the  present  we  will  let  it  be,  for  I  must  look  at 
this  new  country  that  we  are  passing  through.  See 
how  the  river  has  changed  character  again;  it  is 
broad  now,  and  the  reaches  are  long  and  very  slow- 
running.     And  look,  there  is  a  ferry ! " 

I  told  her  the  name  of  it,  as  I  slowed  off  to  put 
the  ferry-chain  over  our  heads.     And  on  we  went 


OR,   AN   EPOCH    OF   REST.  247 

till  the  stream  narrowed  again  and  deepened ;  and 
we  passed  through  walls  of  tall  reeds,  whose  popu- 
lation of  reed-sparrows  and  warblers  were  delight- 
fully restless,  twittering  and  chuckling  as  the  wash 
of  the  boats  stirred  the  reeds  from  the  water  up- 
wards in  the  still,  hot  morning. 

She  smiled  with  pleasure,  and  her  lazy  enjoy- 
ment of  the  new  scene  seemed  to  bring  out  her 
beauty  doubly  as  she  leaned  back  amid  the  cushions, 
though  she  was  far  from  languid,  —  her  idleness 
being  the  idleness  of  a  person  strong  and  well-knit 
both  in  body  and  mind,  deliberately  resting. 

"  Look ! "  she  said,  springing  up  suddenly  from 
her  place  without  any  obvious  effort,  and  balancing 
herself  with  exquisite  grace  and  ease ;  "  look  at  the 
beautiful  old  bridge  ahead  !  " 

"  I  need  scarcely  look  at  that,"  said  I,  not  turn- 
ing my  head  away  from  her  beauty.  "  I  know 
what  it  is,  though"  (with  a  smile)  "we  used  not 
to  call  it  the  Old  Bridge  time  agone." 

She  looked  down  upon  me  kindly,  and  said, 
"How  well  we  get  on  now  you  are  no  longer  on 
your  guard  against  me." 

And  she  stood  looking  thoughtfully  at  me  still, 
till  she  had  to  sit  down  as  we  passed  under  the 
middle  one  of  the  row  of  little  pointed  arches  of 
the  oldest  bridge  across  the  Thames. 

"  Oh,  the  beautiful  fields  !  "  she  said.  "  I  had  no 
idea  of  the  charm  of  a  very  small  river  like  this. 
The  smallness  of  the  scale  of  everything,  the  short 
reaches,  and  the  speedy  change  of  the  banks,  give 
one  a  feeling  of  going  somewhere,  of  coming  to 
something  strange,  —  a  feeling  of  adventure  which 
I  have  not  felt  in  bigger  waters." 


248  NEWS  FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

I  looked  up  at  her  delightedly,  for  her  voice, 
saying  the  very  thing  which  I  was  thinking,  was 
like  a  caress  to  me.  She  caught  my  eye  and  her 
cheeks  reddened  under  their  tan,  and  she  said 
simply,  — 

"I  must  tell  you,  my  friend,  that  when  my 
father  leaves  the  Thames  this  summer  he  will  take 
me  away  to  a  place  near  the  Roman  wall  in  Cum- 
berland ;  so  that  this  voyage  of  mine  is  farewell  to 
the  south,  —  of  course  with  my  good-will  in  a  way, 
and  yet  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  had  n't  the  heart  to 
tell  Dick  yesterday  that  we  were  as  good  as  gone 
from  the  Thames-side  ;  but  somehow  to  you  I  must 
needs  tell  it." 

She  stopped  and  seemed  very  thoughtful  for 
a  while,  and  then  said  smiling,  — 

"  I  must  say  that  I  don't  like  moving  about  from 
one  home  to  another ;  one  gets  so  pleasantly  used 
to  all  the  detail  of  the  life  about  one  —  it  fits  so 
harmoniously  and  happily  into  one's  own  life  —  that 
beginning  again,  even  in  a  small  way,  is  a  kind  of 
pain  to  one.  But  I  dare  say  in  the  country  which 
you  come  from  you  would  think  this  petty  and 
unadventurous,  and  would  think  the  worse  of  me 
for  it." 

She  smiled  at  me  caressingly  as  she  spoke,  and 
I  made  haste  to  answer  :  "  Oh,  no,  indeed ;  again 
you  echo  my  very  thoughts.  But  I  hardly  ex- 
pected to  hear  you  speak  so.  I  gathered  from  all 
I  have  heard  that  there  was  a  great  deal  of  chang- 
ing of  abode  among  you  in  this  country." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  of  course  people  are  free  to 
move  about ;  but  except  for  pleasure-parties,  es- 
pecially in  harvest  and  hay-time,  like  this  of  ours, 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  249 

I  don't  think  they  do  so  much.  I  admit  that  I 
also  have  other  moods  than  that  of  stay-at-home, 
as  I  hinted  just  now,  and  I  should  like  to  go  with 
you  all  through  the  west-country  —  thinking  of 
nothing,"  concluded  she,  smiling. 

"  I  should  have  plenty  to  think  of,"  said  I. 


250  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A    RESTING-PLACE    ON    THE    UPPER   THAMES. 

AT  a  place  where  the  river  flowed  round  a  head- 
•  land  of  the  meadows,  we  stopped  a  while  for 
rest  and  victuals  on  a  beautiful  bank  which  al- 
most reached  the  dignity  of  a  hill-side ;  the  wide 
meadows  spread  before  us,  and  already  the  scythe 
was  busy  amid  the  hay.  One  change  I  noticed 
amid  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  fields,  —  to  wit,  that 
they  were  planted  with  trees  here  and  there,  often 
fruit-trees,  and  that  there  was  none  of  the  niggardly 
begrudging  of  space  to  a  handsome  tree  which  I 
remembered  too  well ;  and  though  the  willows 
were  often  polled  (or  shrouded,  as  they  call  it  in 
that  country-side),  this  was  done  with  some  regard 
to  beauty ;  I  mean  that  there  was  no  polling  of 
rows  on  rows  so  as  to  destroy  the  pleasantness  of 
half  a  mile  of  country,  but  a  thoughtful  sequence 
in  the  cutting  that  prevented  a  sudden  bareness 
anywhere.  To  be  short,  the  fields  were  everywhere 
treated  as  a  garden  made  for  the  pleasure  as  well 
as  the  livelihood  of  all,  as  old  Hammond  told  me 
was  the  case. 

On  this  bank  or  bent  of  the  hill,  then,  we  had 
our  mid-day  meal ;  somewhat  early  for  dinner,  if 
that  mattered,  but  we  had  been  stirring  early,  —  the 
slender  stream  of  the  Thames  winding  below  us 


OR,   AN   EPOCH    OF   REST.  251 

between  the  garden  of  a  country  I  have  been  telling 
of.  A  furlong  from  us  was  a  beautiful  little  islet 
overgrown  with  graceful  trees ;  on  the  slopes  west- 
ward of  us  was  a  wood  of  varied  growth  overhanging 
the  narrow  meadow  on  the  south  side  of  the  river ; 
while  to  the  north  was  a  wide  stretch  of  mead 
rising  very  gradually  from  the  river's  edge.  A 
delicate  spire  of  an  ancient  building  rose  up  from 
out  of  the  trees  in  the  middle  distance,  with  a  few 
gray  houses  clustered  about  it ;  while  nearer  to  us, 
in  fact  not  half  a  furlong  from  the  water,  was  a 
quite  modern  house,  —  a  wide  quadrangle  of  one 
story,  the  buildings  that  made  it  being  quite  low. 
There  was  no  garden  between  it  and  the  river, 
nothing  but  a  row  of  pear-trees  still  quite  young 
and  slender ;  and  though  there  did  not  seem  to  be 
much  ornament  about  it,  it  had  a  sort  of  natural 
elegance,  like  that  of  the  trees  themselves. 

As  we  sat  looking  down  on  all  this  in  the  sweet 
June  day,  rather  happy  than  merry,  Ellen,  who  sat 
next  me,  her  hand  clasped  about  one  knee,  leaned 
sideways  to  me,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  which 
Dick  and  Clara  might  have  noted  if  they  had  not 
been  busy  in  happy  wordless  love-making :  "  Friend, 
in  your  country  were  the  houses  of  your  field- 
laborers  anything  like  that  ?  " 

I  said :  "  Well,  at  any  rate  the  houses  of  our 
rich  men  were  not ;  they  were  mere  blots  upon  the 
face  of  the  land." 

"  I  find  that  hard  to  understand,"  she  said.  "  I 
can  see  why  the  workmen,  who  were  so  oppressed, 
should  not  have  been  able  to  live  in  beautiful 
houses ;  for  it  takes  time  and  leisure,  and  minds 
not   overburdened   with   cares,  to  make   beautiful 


252  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

dwellings ;  and  I  quite  understand  that  these  poor 
people  were  not  allowed  to  live  in  such  a  way  as  to 
have  these  (to  us)  necessary  good  things.  But 
why  the  rich  men,  who  had  the  time  and  the 
leisure  and  the  materials  for  building,  as  it  would 
be  in  this  case,  should  not  have  housed  themselves 
well,  I  do  not  understand  as  yet.  Of  course,  I 
know,"  she  said,  looking  me  full  in  the  eyes  and 
blushing,  "  that  you  mean  to  say  that  their  houses 
and  all  belonging  to  them  were  generally  ugly  and 
base,  unless  they  chanced  to  be  ancient,  like  yonder 
remnant  of  our  forefathers'  work  "  (pointing  to  the 
spire)  ;  "  that  they  were  —  let  me  see ;  what  is  the 
word  ?  " 

"Vulgar,"  said  I.  "We  used  to  say,"  said  I, 
"  that  the  ugliness  and  vulgarity  of  the  rich  men's 
dwellings  was  a  necessary  reflection  from  the  sor- 
didness  and  bareness  of  life  which  they  forced 
upon  the  poor  people." 

She  knit  her  brows  as  in  thought ;  then  turned  a 
brightened  face  on  me,  as  if  she  had  caught  the 
idea,  and  said :  "  Yes,  friend,  I  see  what  you  mean. 
We  have  sometimes — those  of  us  who  look  into 
these  things  —  talked  this  very  matter  over;  be- 
cause, to  say  the  truth,  we  have  plenty  of  record 
of  the  so-called  arts  of  the  time  before  Equality  of 
Life ;  and  there  are  not  wanting  people  who  say 
that  the  state  of  that  society  was  not  the  cause  of 
all  that  ugliness ;  that  they  were  ugly  in  their  life 
because  they  liked  to  be,  and  could  have  had 
beautiful  things  about  them  if  they  had  chosen  ; 
just  as  a  man  or  body  of  men  now  may,  if  they 
please,  make  things  more  or  less  beautiful  —  Stop ! 
I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say." 


OR,   AN   EPOCH    OF   REST.  253 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  I,  smiling,  yet  with  a  beating 
heart. 

"  Yes,"  she  said ;  "  you  are  answering  me,  teach- 
ing me,  in  some  way  or  another,  although  you  have 
not  spoken  the  words  aloud.  You  were  going  to 
say  that  in  times  of  inequality  it  was  an  essential 
condition  of  the  life  of  these  rich  men  that  they 
should  not  themselves  make  what  they  wanted  for 
the  adornment  of  their  lives,  but  should  force 
those  to  make  them  whom  they  forced  to  live 
pinched  and  sordid  lives ;  and  that,  as  a  necessary 
consequence,  the  sordidness  and  pinching,  the  ugly 
barrenness  of  those  ruined  lives,  were  worked  up 
even  into  the  adornment  of  the  lives  of  the  rich, 
and  art  died  out  among  men  ?  Was  that  what 
you  would  say,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  said,  looking  at  her  eagerly ;  for 
she  had  risen  and  was  standing  on  the  edge  of 
the  bent,  the  light  wind  stirring  her  dainty  rai- 
ment, one  hand  laid  on  her  bosom,  the  other 
arm  stretched  downward  and  clenched  in  her 
earnestness. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  said,  "  it  is  true  !  We  have 
proved  it  true." 

I  think  amid  my  —  something  more  than  inter- 
est in  her,  and  admiration  for  her,  I  was  beginning 
to  wonder  how  it  would  all  end.  I  had  a  glimmer- 
ing of  fear  of  what  might  follow,  of  anxiety  as  to 
the  remedy  of  that  age  for  the  missing  of  some- 
thing one  might  set  one's  heart  on,  when  Dick 
rose  to  his  feet  and  cried  out  in  his  hearty  man- 
ner: "Neighbor  Ellen,  are  you  quarrelling  with 
the  guest,  or  are  you  worrying  him  to  tell  you 
things  which  he  cannot  properly  explain  to  our 
ignorance  ? " 


254  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

"  Neither,  dear  neighbor,"  she  said.  "  I  was  so 
far  from  quarrelling  with  him  that  I  think  I  have 
been  making  him  good  friends  both  with  himself 
and  me.  Is  it  so,  dear  guest  ?  "  she  said,  looking 
down  at  me  with  a  delightful  smile  of  confidence 
in  being  understood. 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  moreover,"  she  said,  "  I  must  say  for  him 
that  he  has  explained  himself  to  me  very  well  in- 
deed, so  that  I  quite  understand  him." 

"All  right,"  quoth  Dick.  "When  I  first  set 
eyes  on  you  at  Runnymede  I  knew  that  there  was 
something  wonderful  in  your  keenness  of  wits.  I 
don't  say  that  as  a  mere  pretty  speech  to  please 
you,"  said  he  quickly,  "  but  because  it  is  true ;  and 
it  made  me  want  to  see  more  of  you.  But  come, 
we  ought  to  be  going  ;  for  we  are  not  half-way,  and 
we  ought  to  be  in  well  before  sunset." 

And  therewith  he  took  Clara's  hand,  and  led 
her  down  the  bent.  But  Ellen  stood  thoughtfully 
looking  down  for  a  little,  and  as  I  took  her  hand 
to  follow  Dick,  she  turned  round  to  me  and  said : 

"  You  might  tell  me  a  great  deal  and  make  many 
things  clear  to  me,  if  you  would." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  am  pretty  well  fit  for  that,  — 
and  for  nothing  else,  —  an  old  man  like  me." 

She  did  not  notice  the  bitterness  that,  whether  I 
liked  it  or  not,  was  in  my  voice  as  I  spoke,  but 
went  on :  "  It  is  not  so  much  for  myself ;  I  should 
be  quite  content  to  dream  about  past  times,  and  if 
I  could  not  idealize  them,  idealize  some  of  the  peo- 
ple who  lived  in  them.  But  I  think  sometimes 
people  are  too  careless  of  the  history  of  the  past  — 
too   apt  to  leave  it  in  the   hands  of   old  learned 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  255 

men  like  Hammond.  Who  knows  ?  happy  as  we 
are,  times  may  change;  we  may  be  bitten  with 
some  impulse  towards  change,  and  many  things 
may  seem  too  wonderful  for  us  to  resist,  too  ex- 
citing not  to  catch  at,  if  we  do  not  know  that 
they  are  but  phases  of  what  has  been  before ;  and 
withal  ruinous,  deceitful,  and  sordid." 

As  we  went  slowly  down  toward  the  boats  she 
said  again :  "  Not  for  myself  alone,  dear  friend  ;  I 
shall  have  children ;  perhaps  before  the  end  a  good 
many  —  I  hope  so.  And  though  of  course  I  cannot 
force  any  special  kind  of  knowledge  upon  them,  yet, 
my  friend,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  just  as  they 
might  be  like  me  in  body,  so  T  might  impress  upon 
them  some  part  of  my  ways  of  thinking ;  that  is, 
indeed,  some  of  the  essential  part  of  myself,  —  that 
part  which  was  not  mere  moods,  created  bj^  the 
matters  and  events  round  about  me.  What  do  you 
think  ?  " 

Of  one  thing  I  was  sure,  that  her  beauty  and 
kindness  and  eagerness  combined  forced  me  to 
think  as  she  did,  when  she  was  not  earnestly  lay- 
ing herself  open  to  receive  my  thoughts.  I  said 
what  at  the  time  was  true,  that  I  thought  it  most 
important ;  and  presently  stood  entranced  by  the 
wonder  of  her  grace  as  she  stepped  into  the  light 
boat,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  me.  And  so  on 
we  went  up  the  Thames  still  —  or  whither  ? 


256  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE    JOURNEY'S    END. 

ON  we  went.  In  spite  of  my  new-born  excite- 
ment about  Ellen,  and  my  gathering  fear  of 
where  it  would  land  me,  I  could  not  help  taking 
abundant  interest  in  the  condition  of  the  river  and 
its  banks  ;  all  the  more  as  she  never  seemed  weary 
of  the  changing  picture,  but  looked  at  every  yard 
of  flowery  bank  and  gurgling  eddy  with  the  same 
kind  of  affectionate  interest  which  I  myself  once 
had  so  fully,  as  I  used  to  think,  and  perhaps  had 
not  altogether  lost  even  in  this  strangely  changed 
society  with  all  its  wonders.  Ellen  seemed  de- 
lighted with  my  pleasure  at  this,  that,  or  the  other 
piece  of  carefulness  in  dealing  with  the  river :  the 
nursing  of  pretty  corners  ;  the  ingenuity  in  dealing 
with  difficulties  of  water-engineering,  so  that  the 
most  obviously  useful  works  looked  beautiful  and 
natural  also.  All  this,  I  say,  pleased  me  hugely, 
and  she  was  pleased  at  my  pleasure  —  but  rather 
puzzled  too. 

"  You  seem  astonished,"  she  said,  just  after  we 
had  passed  a  mill *  which  spanned  all  the  stream 
save  the  water-way  for  traffic,  but  which  was  as 

i  I  should  have  said  that  all  along  the  Thames  there  were 
abundance  of  mills  used  for  various  purposes  ;  none  of  which 
were  in  any  degree  unsightly,  and  many  strikingly  beautiful; 
and  the  gardens  about  them  marvels  of  loveliness. 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  257 

beautiful  in  its  way  as  a  Gothic  cathedral  —  "  you 
seem  astonished  at  this  being  so  pleasant  to  look 
at." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  in  a  way  I  am ;  though  I  don't 
see  why  it  shouldn't  be." 

"  Ah ! "  she  said,  looking  at  me  admiringly,  yet 
with  a  lurking  smile  in  her  face,  "you  know  all 
about  the  history  of  the  past.  Were  they  not  al- 
ways careful  about  this  little  stream  which  now 
adds  so  much  pleasantness  to  the  country-side  ?  It 
would  always  be  easy  to  manage  this  little  river. 
Ah  !  I  forgot,  though,"  she  said,  as  her  eye  caught 
mine;  "in  the  days  we  are  thinking  of,  pleasure 
was  wholly  neglected  in  such  matters.  But  how 
did  they  manage  the  river  in  the  days  that  you  —  " 
lived  in,  she  was  going  to  say ;  but  correcting 
herself,  said  — "  in  the  days  of  which  you  have 
record  ?  " 

"  They  mismanaged  it,"  quoth  I.  "  Up  to  the 
first  half  of  the  nineteenth  century,  when  it  was  still 
more  or  less  of  a  highway  for  the  country  people, 
some  care  was  taken  of  the  river  and  its  banks ; 
and  though  I  don't  suppose  any  one  troubled  him- 
self about  its  aspect,  yet  it  was  trim  and  beautiful. 
But  when  the  railways  —  of  which  no  doubt  you 
have  heard  —  came  into  power,  they  would  not 
allow  the  people  of  the  country  to  use  either  the 
natural  or  artificial  waterways,  of  which  latter  there 
were  a  great  many.  I  suppose  when  we  get  higher 
up  we  shall  see  one  of  these,  —  a  very  important 
one,  which  one  of  these  railways  entirely  closed  to 
the  public,  so  that  they  might  force  people  to  send 
their  goods  by  their  private  road,  and  so  tax  them 
as  heavily  as  they  could." 
17 


258  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

Ellen  laughed  heartily.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  that 
is  not  stated  clearly  enough  in  our  history-books, 
and  it  is  worth  knowing.  But  certainly  the  people 
of  those  days  must  have  been  a  curiously  lazy  set. 
We  are  not  either  fidgety  or  quarrelsome  now,  but 
if  any  one  tried  such  a  piece  of  folly  on  us,  we 
should  use  the  said  waterways,  whoever  gainsaid 
us  ;  surely  that  would  be  simple  enough.  How- 
ever, I  remember  other  cases  of  this  stupidity. 
When  I  was  on  the  Rhine  two  years  ago,  I  remem- 
ber they  showed  us  ruins  of  old  castles,  which, 
according  to  what  we  heard,  must  have  been  made 
for  pretty  much  the  same  purpose  as  the  railways 
were.  But  I  am  interrupting  your  history  of  the 
river  ;  pray  go  on." 

"It  is  both  short  and  stupid  enough,"  said  I. 
"  The  river  having  lost  its  practical  or  commercial 
value  —  that  is,  being  of  no  use  to  make  money 
of  —  " 

She  nodded.  "I  understand  what  that  queer 
phrase  means,"  said  she.     "  Go  on  ! " 

"Well,  it  was  utterly  neglected,  till  at  last  it 
became  a  nuisance  —  " 

"  Yes,"  quoth  Ellen,  "  I  understand,  —  like  the 
railways  and  the  robber  knights.     Yes  ?  " 

"  So  then  they  turned  the  makeshift  business  on 
to  it,  and  handed  it  over  to  a  body  up  in  London, 
who  from  time  to  time,  in  order  to  show  that 
they  had  something  to  do,  did  some  damage  here 
and  there,  —  cut  down  trees,  destroying  the  banks 
thereby ;  dredged  the  river  (where  it  was  not 
needed  always),  and  threw  the  dredgings  on  the 
fields  so  as  to  spoil  them ;  and  so  forth.  But  for 
the  most  part  they  practised  '  masterly  inactivity,' 


OR,   AN   EPOCH    OF   REST.  259 

as  it  was  then  called,  —  that  is,  they  drew  their 
salaries,  and  let  things  alone." 

"Drew  their  salaries,"  she  said.  "I  know  that 
means  that  they  were  allowed  to  take  an  extra  lot 
of  other  people's  goods  for  doing  nothing.  And  if 
that  had  been  all,  it  really  might  have  been  worth 
while  to  let  them  do  so,  if  you  could  n't  find  any 
other  way  of  keeping  them  quiet ;  but  it  seems  to 
me  that  being  so  paid,  they  could  not  help  doing- 
something,  and  that  something  was  bound  to  be 
mischief, — because,"  said  she,  kindling  with  sud- 
den anger,  "  the  whole  business  was  founded  on 
lies  and  false  pretensions.  I  don't  mean  only 
these  river-guardians,  but  all  these  master-people 
I  have  read  of." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  how  happy  you  are  to  have  got 
out  of  the  parsimony  of  oppression!" 

«  Why  do  you  sigh  ?  "  she  said  kindly  and  some- 
what anxiously.  "  You  seem  to  think  that  it  will 
not  last." 

"  It  will  last  for  you,"  quoth  I. 

"  But  why  not  for  you  ?  "  said  she.  "  Surely  it 
is  for  all  the  world ;  and  if  your  country  is  some- 
what backward,  it  will  come  into  line  before  long. 
Or,"  she  said,  quickly,  "are  you  thinking  that 
you  must  soon  go  back  again  ?  I  was  going  to 
propose  that  you  should  live  with  us  where  we 
are  going.  I  feel  quite  old  friends  with  you,  and 
should  be  sorry  to  lose  you."  Then  she  smiled  on 
me,  and  said:  "Do  you  know,  I  begin  to  suspect 
you  of  wanting  to  nurse  a  sham  sorrow,  like  the 
ridiculous  characters  in  some  of  those  queer  old 
novels  that  I  have  come  across  now  and  then." 

I  really  had  almost  begun  to  suspect  it  myself, 


260  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

but  I  refused  to  admit  so  much;  so  I  sighed  no 
more,  but  fell  to  giving  my  delightful  companion 
what  little  pieces  of  history  I  knew  about  the 
river  and  its  border-lands ;  and  the  time  passed 
pleasantly  enough ;  and  between  the  two  of  us 
(she  was  a  better  sculler  than  I  was,  and  seemed 
quite  tireless)  we  kept  up  fairly  well  with  Dick, 
hot  as  the  afternoon  was,  and  swallowed  up  the 
way  at  a  great  rate.  At  last  we  passed  under 
another  ancient  bridge,  and  through  meadows  bor- 
dered at  first  with  huge  elm-trees  mingled  with 
sweet  chestnut  of  younger  but  very  elegant  growth ; 
and  the  meadows  widened  out  so  much  that  it 
seemed  felt  that  the  trees  must  now  be  on  the 
bents  only  or  about  the  houses,  except  for  the 
growth  of  the  willows  on  the  immediate  banks,  so 
that  the  wide  stretch  of  grass  was  little  broken 
here.  Dick  got  very  much  excited  now,  and  often 
stood  up  in  the  boat  to  cry  out  to  us  that  this 
was  such  and  such  a  field,  and  so  forth;  and  we 
caught  lire  at  his  enthusiasm  for  the  hayfield  and 
its  harvest  and  pulled  our  best. 

At  last,  as  we  were  passing  through  a  reach  of 
the  river  where  on  the  side  of  the  towing-path 
was  a  highish  bank,  with  a  thick,  whispering  bed 
of  reeds  before  it,  and  on  the  other  side  a  higher 
bank,  clothed  with  willows  that  dipped  into  the 
stream,  and  crowned  by  ancient  elm-trees,  we 
saw  bright  figures  coming  along  close  to  the  bank, 
as  if  they  were  looking  for  something ;  as,  indeed, 
they  were,  and  we — that  is,  Dick  and  his  company 
—  were  what  they  were  looking  for.  Dick  lay  on 
lus  oars,  and  we  followed  his  example.  He  gave 
a  joyous  shout  to  the  people  on  the  bank,  which 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  261 

was  echoed  back  from  it  in  many  voices,  deep 
and  sweetly  shrill;  for  there  were  above  a  dozen 
persons,  both  men,  women,  and  children.  A  tall, 
handsome  woman,  with  black,  wavy  hair  and  deep- 
set,  gray  eyes,  came  forward  on  the  bank  and  waved 
her  hand  gracefully  to  us,  and  said,  — 

"Dick,  my  friend,  we  have  almost  had  to  wait 
for  you  !  What  excuse  have  you  to  make  for  your 
slavish  punctuality  ?  Why  did  n't  you  take  us  by 
surprise,  and  come  yesterday  ?  " 

"Oh,"  said  Dick,  with  an  almost  imperceptible 
jerk  of  his  head  toward  our  boat,  "we  didn't 
want  to  come  too  quick  up  the  water ;  there  is  so 
much  to  see  for  those  who  have  not  been  up  here 
before." 

"  True,  true,"  said  the  stately  lady,  —  for  stately 
is  the  word  that  must  be  used  for  her,  —  "and  we 
want  them  to  get  to  know  the  wet  way  from  the 
east  thoroughly  well,  since  they  must  often  use 
it  now.  But  come  ashore  at  once,  Dick,  and  you, 
dear  neighbors  ;  there  is  a  break  in  the  reeds  and 
a  good  landing-place  just  round  the  corner.  We 
can  carry  up  your  things,  or  send  some  of  the 
lads  after  them." 

"No,  no,"  said  Dick;  "easier  going  by  water, 
though  it  is  but  a  step.  Besides,  I  want  to  bring 
my  friend  here  to  the  proper  place.  We  will  go 
on  to  the  ford ;  and  you  can  talk  to  us  from  the 
bank  as  we  paddle  along." 

He  pulled  his  sculls  through  the  water,  and  on 
we  went,  turning  a  sharp  angle  and  going  north 
a  little.  Presently  we  saw  before  us  a  bank  of 
elm-trees,  which  told  us  of  a  house  amid  them, 
though  I  looked  in  vain  for  the  gray  walls   that 


2G2  NEWS   FROM  NOWHERE  ; 

I  expected  to  see  there.  As  we  went,  the  folk 
on  the  bank  talked  indeed,  mingling  their  kind 
voices  with  the  cuckoo's  song,  the  sweet,  strong 
whistle  of  the  blackbirds,  and  the  ceaseless  note 
of  the  corn-crake  as  he  crept  through  the  long 
grass  of  the  mowing-field,  —  whence  came  waves  of 
fragrance  from  the  flowering  clover  amid  the  ripe 
grass. 

In  a  few  minutes  we  had  passed  through  a  deep, 
eddying  pool  into  the  sharp  stream  that  ran  from 
the  ford,  and  beached  our  craft  on  a  tiny  strand  of 
limestone-gravel,  and  stepped  ashore  into  the  arms 
of  our  up-river  friends,  our  journey  done. 

I  disentangled  myself  from  the  merry  throng, 
and  mounting  on  the  cart-road  that  ran  along  the 
river  some  feet  above  the  water,  I  looked  round 
about  me.  The  river  came  down  through  a  wide 
meadow  on  my  left,  which  was  gray  now  with  the 
ripened  seeding-grasses ;  the  gleaming  water  was 
lost  presently  by  a  turn  of  the  bank,  but  over  the 
meadow  I  could  see  the  mingled  gables  of  a  build- 
ing where  I  knew  the  lock  must  be,  and  which 
now  seemed  to  combine  a  mill  with  it.  A  low, 
wooded  ridge  bounded  the  river-plain  to  the  south 
and  southeast,  whence  we  had  come,  and  a  few 
low  houses  lay  about  its  feet  and  up  its  slope.  I 
turned  a  little  to  my  right,  and  through  the  haw- 
thorn-spra}rs  and  long  shoots  of  the  wild  roses 
could  see  the  flat  country  spreading  out  far  away 
under  the  sun  of  the  calm  afternoon,  till  some- 
thing that  might  be  called  hills,  with  a  look  of 
sheep-pastures  about  them,  bounded  it  with  a  soft 
blue  line.  Before  me,  the  elm-boughs  still  hid 
most  of  what  houses  there  might  be  in  this  river- 


OE,   AN    EPOCH    OF   REST.  263 

side  dwelling  of  men ;  but  to  the  right  of  the  cart- 
road  a  few  gray  buildings  of  the  simplest  kinds 
showed  here  and  there. 

There  I  stood  in  a  dreamy  mood,  and  rubbed 
my  eyes  as  if  I  were  not  wholly  awake,  and  half 
expected  to  see  the  gay-clad  throng  of  beautiful 
men  and  women  change  to  two  or  three  spindle- 
legged  back-bowed  men,  and  haggard,  hollow-eyed, 
ill-favored  women,  who  once  wore  down  the  soil 
of  this  land  with  their  heavy,  hopeless  feet,  from 
day  to  day  and  season  to  season  and  year  to  year. 
But  no  change  came  as  yet,  and  my  heart  swelled 
with  joy  as  I  thought  of  all  the  beautiful  gray  vil- 
lages, from  the  river  to  the  plain  and  the  plain  to 
the  uplands,  which  I  could  picture  to  myself  so 
well,  all  peopled  now  with  this  happy  and  lovely 
folk,  who  had  cast  away  riches  and  attained  to 
wealth. 


264  NEWS    FROM    NOWHERE  J 


CHAPTEK  XXIX. 

AS    OLD    HOUSE    AMONG    NEW    FOLK. 

A  SI  stood  there  Ellen  detached  herself  from  the 
**■  merry  group  on  the  little  strand  and  came  up 
to  me.  She  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  said,  softly : 
"  Take  me  on  to  the  house  at  once ;  we  need  not 
wait  for  the  others,  —  I  had  rather  not." 

I  had  a  mind  to  say  that  I  did  not  know  the  way 
thither,  and  that  the  river-side  dwellers  should  lead ; 
but  almost  without  my  will  my  feet  moved  on  along 
the  road  they  knew.  The  raised  way  led  us  into  a 
little  field  bounded  by  a  backwater  of  the  river  on 
one  side  ;  on  the  right  hand  we  could  see  a  cluster 
of  small  houses  and  barns,  new  and  old,  and  before 
us  a  gray-stone  barn  and  a  wall  partly  overgrown 
with  ivy,  over  which  a  few  gray  gables  showed.  The 
village  road  ended  in  the  shallow  of  the  aforesaid 
backwater.  We  crossed  the  road,  and  again  almost 
without  my  will  my  hand  raised  the  latch  of  a  door 
in  the  wall,  and  we  stood  presently  on  a  stone  path 
which  led  up  to  the  old  house  to  which  fate,  in  the 
shape  of  Dick,  had  so  strangely  brought  me  in  this 
new  world  of  men.  My  companion  gave  a  sigh  of 
pleased  surprise  and  enjoyment ;  nor  did  I  wonder, 
for  the  garden  between  the  wall  and  the  house  was 
redolent  of  the  June  flowers,  and  the  roses  were 
rolling  over  one  another  with  that  delicious  super- 
abundance of  small,  well-tended  gardens  which  at 


OR,  AN   EPOCH   OF  REST.  265 

first  sight  takes  away  all  thought  from  the  beholder 
save  that  of  beauty.  The  blackbirds  were  singing 
their  loudest,  the  doves  were  cooing  on  the  roof- 
ridge,  the  rooks  in  the  high  elm-trees  beyond  were 
garrulous  among  the  young  leaves,  and  the  swifts 
wheeled  whining  about  the  gables.  And  the  house 
itself  was  a  fit  guardian  for  all  the  beauty  of  this 
heart  of  summer. 

Once  again  Ellen  echoed  my  thoughts  as  she 
said:  "Yes,  friend,  this  is  what  I  came  out  for 
to  see ;  this  many-gabled  old  house,  built  by  the 
simple  country-folk  of  the  long  past  times,  regard- 
less of  all  the  turmoil  that  was  going  on  in  cities 
and  courts,  is  lovely  still  amid  all  the  beauty  which 
these  latter  days  have  created ;  and  I  do  not  won- 
der at  our  friends  tending  it  carefully  and  making 
much  of  it.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  it  had  waited  for 
these  happy  days,  and  held  in  it  the  gathered  crumbs 
of  happiness  of  the  confused  and  turbulent  past." 

She  led  me  up  close  to  the  house,  and  laid  her 
shapely,  beautiful,  sun-browned  hand  on  the  lichened 
wall,  as  if  to  embrace  it,  and  cried  out,  "  Oh  me ! 
Oh  me  !  How  I  love  the  earth,  and  the  seasons,  and 
weather,  and  all  things  that  deal  with  it,  and  all 
that  grows  out  of  it,  —  as  this  has  done  ! " 

I  could  not  answer  her,  or  say  a  word.  Her  ex- 
ultation and  pleasure  were  so  keen  and  exquisite, 
and  her  beauty,  so  delicate,  yet  so  interfused  with 
energy,  expressed  it  so  fully,  that  any  added  word 
would  have  been  commonplace  and  futile.  I  dreaded 
lest  the  others  should  come  in  suddenly  and  break 
the  spell  she  had  cast  about  me ;  but  we  stood  there 
a  while  by  the  corner  of  the  big  gable  of  the  house, 
and  no  one  came.     I  heard  the  merry  voices  some 


266  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE; 

way  off  presently,  and  knew  that  they  were  going 
along  the  river  to  the  great  meadow  on  the  other 
side  of  the  house  and  garden. 

We  drew  back  a  little,  and  looked  up  at  the  house. 
The  door  and  the  windows  were  open  to  the  fragrant 
sun-cured  air ;  from  the  upper  window-sills  hung 
festoons  of  flowers  in  honor  of  the  festival,  as  if  the 
others  shared  in  our  love  for  the  old  house. 

"Come  in,"  said  Ellen.  "I  hope  nothing  will 
spoil  it  inside  ;  but  I  don't  think  so.  Come  !  we 
must  go  back  presently  to  the  others.  They  have 
gone  on  to  the  tents ;  for  surely  they  must  have 
tents  pitched  for  the  haymakers,  —  the  house  would 
not  hold  a  tithe  of  the  folk,  I  am  sure." 

She  led  me  on  to  the  door,  murmuring  a  little 
above  her  breath  as  she  did  so,  "  The  earth,  and 
the  growth  of  it,  and  the  life  of  it !  If  I  could  but 
say  or  show  how  I  love  it ! " 

We  went  in  and  found  no  soul  in  any  room  as 
we  wandered  from  room  to  room,  —  from  the  rose- 
covered  porch  to  the  strange  and  quaint  garrets 
among  the  great  timbers  of  the  roof,  where  of  old 
time  the  tillers  and  herdsmen  of  the  manor  slept, 
but  which  a-nights  seemed  now,  by  the  small  size  of 
the  beds,  and  the  litter  of  useless  and  disregarded 
matters,  —  bunches  of  dying  flowers,  feathers  of 
birds,  shells  of  starling's  eggs,  caddis-worms  in 
mugs,  and  the  like,  —  seemed  to  be  inhabited  for 
the  time  by  children. 

Everywhere  there  was  but  little  furniture,  and 
that  only  the  most  necessary,  and  of  the  simplest 
forms.  The  extravagant  love  of  ornament  which  I 
had  noted  in  this  people  elsewhere  seemed  here  to 
have  given  place  to  the  feeling  that  the  house  itself 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  267 

and  its  associations  was  the  ornament  of  the  coun- 
try life  amid  which  it  had  been  left  stranded  from 
old  times,  and  that  to  re-ornament  it  would  but  take 
away  its  use  as  a  piece  of  natural  beauty. 

We  sat  down  at  last  in  a  room  over  the  wall 
which  Ellen  had  caressed,  and  the  walls  of  which 
were  still  hung  with  old  tapestry,  originally  of  no 
artistic  value,  but  which  had  now  faded  into  pleas- 
ant gray  tones  which  harmonized  thoroughly  well 
with  the  quiet  of  the  place,  and  which  would  have 
been  ill  supplanted  by  brighter  and  more  striking 
decoration. 

I  asked  a  few  random  questions  of  Ellen  as  we 
sat  there,  but  scarcely  listened  to  her  answers,  and 
presently  became  silent,  —  and  then  scarce  conscious 
of  anything,  but  that  I  was  there  in  that  old  room, 
the  doves  crooning  from  the  roofs  of  the  barn  and 
dovecot  beyond  the  window  opposite  to  me. 

My  thought  returned  to  me  after  what  I  think 
was  but  a  minute  or  two,  but  which,  as  in  a  vivid 
dream,  seemed  as  if  it  had  lasted  a  long  time,  when 
I  saw  Ellen  sitting,  looking  all  the  fuller  of  life 
and  pleasure  and  desire  from  the  contrast  with  the 
gray,  faded  tapestry  with  its  futile  design,  which 
was  now  only  bearable  because  it  had  grown  so 
faint  and  feeble. 

She  looked  at  me  kindly,  but  as  if  she  read  me 
through  and  through.  She  said  :  "  You  have  begun 
again  your  never-ending  contrast  between  the  past 
and  this  present.     Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  True,"  said  I.  "  I  was  thinking  of  what  you, 
with  your  capacity  and  intelligence,  joined  to  your 
love  of  pleasure,  and  your  impatience  of  unreason- 
able restraint  —  of  what  you  would  have  been   in 


268  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  | 

that  past.  And  even  now,  when  all  is  won  and  has 
been  for  a  long  time,  my  heart  is  sickened  with 
thinking  of  all  the  waste  of  life  that  has  gone  on 
for  so  many  years." 

"  So  many  centuries,"  she  said,  "  so  many  ages  ! " 

"  True,"  I  said ;  "  too  true,"  and  sat  silent  again. 

She  rose  up  and  said :  "  Come,  I  must  not  let  you 
go  off  into  a  dream  again  so  soon.  If  we  must  lose 
3rou,  I  want  you  to  see  all  that  you  can  see  first, 
before  you  go  back  again." 

"  Lose  me  ?  "  I  said,  —  "  go  back  again  ?  What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

She  smiled  somewhat  sadly,  and  said  :  "  Not  yet ; 
we  will  not  talk  of  that  yet.  Only,  what  were  you 
thinking  of  just  now  ?  " 

I  said  falteringly  :  "  I  was  saying  to  myself,  The 
past,  the  present  ?  Should  she  not  have  said  the 
contrast  of  the  present  with  the  future,  —  of  blind 
despair  with  hope  ?  " 

"  I  knew  it ! "  she  said.  Then  she  caught  my 
hand  and  said  excitedly,  "Come,  while  there  is 
yet  time !  Come  ! "  And  she  led  me  out  of  the 
room ;  and  as  we  were  going  downstairs  and  out 
of  the  house  into  the  garden  by  a  little  side  door 
which  opened  out  of  a  curious  lobby,  she  said  in  a 
calm  voice,  as  if  she  wished  me  to  forget  her  sud- 
den nervousness  :  "  Come !  we  ought  to  join  the 
others  before  they  come  here  looking  for  us.  And 
let  me  tell  you,  my  friend,  that  I  can  see  you  are 
too  apt  to  fall  into  mere  dreamy  musing,  —  no  doubt 
because  you  are  not  yet  used  to  our  life  of  repose 
amid  energy,  of  work  which  is  pleasure,  and  pleas- 
ure which  is  work." 

She  paused  a  little,  and  as  we  came  o\it  into  the 


OR,  AN  EPOCH  OF   REST.  269 

lovely  garden  again  she  said. :  "  My  friend,  you 
were  saying  that  you  wondered  what  I  should  have 
been  if  I  had  lived  in  those  past  days  of  turmoil 
and  oppression.  Well,  I  think  I  have  studied  the 
history  of  them  to  know  pretty  well.  I  should 
have  been  one  of  the  poor,  for  my  father  when  he 
was  working  was  a  mere  tiller  of  the  soil.  Well,  I 
could  not  have  borne  that ;  therefore  my  beauty 
and  cleverness  and  brightness  "  (she  spoke  with  no 
blush  or  simper  of  false  shame)  "  would  have  been 
sold  to  rich  men,  and  my  life  would  have  been 
wasted  indeed  ;  for  I  know  enough  of  that  to  know 
that  I  should  have  had  no  choice,  no  power  of  will 
over  my  life  ;  and  that  I  should  never  have  bought 
pleasure  from  the  rich  men,  or  even  opportunity  of 
action,  whereby  I  might  have  won  some  true  ex- 
citement. I  should  have  wrecked  and  wasted  in 
one  way  or  another,  either  by  penury  or  by  luxury. 
Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  said  I. 

She  was  going  to  say  something  else,  when  a 
little  gate  in  the  fence  which  led  into  a  small  elm- 
shaded  field,  was  opened,  and  Dick  came  with 
hasty  cheerfulness  up  the  garden  path  and  was 
presently  standing  between  lis,  a  hand  laid  on  the 
shoulder  of  each.  He  said :  "  Well,  neighbors,  I 
thought  you  two  would  like  to  see  the  old  house 
quietly  without  a  crowd  in  it.  Is  n't  it  a  jewel  of 
a  house  after  its  kind  ?  Well,  come  along,  for  it  is 
getting  towards  dinner-time.  Perhaps  you,  guest, 
would  like  a  swim  before  we  sit  down  to  what  I 
fancy  will  be  a  pretty  long  feast  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,   "  I  should  like  that." 

"  Well,  good-by  for  the  present,  neighbor  Ellen," 


270  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

said  Dick,  "  Here  comes  Clara  to  take  care  of  you, 
as  I  fancy  she  is  more  at  home  among  our  friends 
here." 

Clara  came  out  of  the  field  as  he  spoke ;  and 
with  one  look  at  Ellen  I  turned  and  went  with 
Dick,  doubting,  if  I  must  say  the  truth,  whether  I 
should  see  her  again. 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  271 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

the  feast's  beginning:  the  end. 

T~\ICK  brought  me  at  once  into  the  little  field 
-*-^  which,  as  I  had  seen  from  the  garden,  was 
covered  with  gayly  colored  tents  arranged  in  or- 
derly lanes,  about  which  were  sitting  and  lying  on 
the  grass  some  fifty  or  sixty  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, all  of  them  in  the  height  of  good  temper  and 
enjoyment,  —  with  their  holiday  mood  on,  so  to  say. 
"You  are  thinking  that  we  don't  make  a  great 
show  as  to  numbers,"  said  Dick ;  "  but  you  must 
remember  that  we  shall  have  more  to-morrow ; 
because  in  this  haymaking  work  there  is  room  for 
a  great  many  people  who  are  not  over-skilled  in 
country  matters  ;  and  there  are  many  who  lead 
sedentary  lives,  whom  it  would  be  unkind  to  de- 
prive of  their  pleasure  in  the  hayfield,  —  scientific 
men  and  close  students  generally ;  so  that  the 
skilled  workmen,  outside  those  who  are  wanted  as 
mowers  and  foremen  of  the  haymaking,  stand  aside, 
and  take  a  little  downright  rest,  which  you  know 
is  good  for  them,  whether  they  like  it  or  not ;  or 
else  they  go  to  other  countrysides,  as  I  am  doing 
here.  You  see,  the  scientific  men  and  historians 
and  students  generally  will  not  be  wanted  till  we 
are  fairly  in  the  midst  of  the  tedding,  which  of 
course  will  not  be  till  the  day  after  to-morrow." 
With  that  he  brought  me  out  of  the  little  field  on 


272  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

to  a  kind  of  causeway  above  the  riverside  meadow, 
and  thence  turning  to  the  left  on  to  a  path  through 
the  mowing  grass,  which  was  thick  and  very  tall, 
led  on  till  we  came  to  the  river  above  the  weir  and 
its  mill.  There  we  had  a  delightful  swim  in  the 
broad  piece  of  water  above  the  weir,  where  the 
river  looked  much  bigger  than  its  natural  size,  from 
its  being  dammed  up  by  the  weir. 

"  Now  we  are  in  a  fit  mood  for  dinner,"  said 
Dick,  when  we  had  dressed  and  were  going  through 
the  grass  again  ;  "  and  certainly  of  all  the  cheerful 
meals  in  the  year,  this  one  of  haysel  is  the  cheer- 
fulest ;  not  even  excepting  the  corn-harvest  feast ; 
for  then  the  year  is  beginning  to  fail,  and  one  cannot 
help  having  a  feeling,  behind  all  the  gayety,  of  the 
coming  of  the  dark  days  and  the  shorn  fields  and 
empty  gardens  ;  and  the  spring  is  almost  too  far 
off  to  look  forward  to.  It  is,  then,  in  the  autumn 
when  one  almost  believes  in  death." 

"  How  strangely  you  talk,"  said  I,  "  of  such  a 
constantly  recurring  and  consequently  common- 
place matter  as  the  sequence  of  the  seasons."  And 
indeed  these  people  were  like  children  about  such 
things,  and  had  what  seemed  to  me  a  quite  ex- 
aggerated interest  in  the  weather,  —  a  fine  day,  a 
dark  night  or  a  brilliant  one,  and  the  like. 

"  Strangely  ?  "  said  he.  "  Is  it  strange  to  sym- 
pathize with  the  year  and  its  gains  and  losses  ?  " 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  I,  "  if  you  look  upon  the 
course  of  the  year  as  a  beautiful  and  interesting 
drama,  —  which  is  what  I  think  you  do,  —  you 
should  be  as  much  pleased  and  interested  with  the 
winter  and  its  trouble  and  pain  as  with  this  won- 
derful summer  luxury." 


OR,   AN    EPOCH   OF   REST.  273 

"  And  am  I  not  ?  "  said  Dick,  rather  warmly ; 
"  only  I  can't  look  upon  it  as  if  I  were  sitting  in  a 
theatre  seeing  the  play  going  on  before  me,  myself 
taking  no  part  of  it.  It  is  difficult,"  said  he,  smil- 
ing good-humoredly,  "  for  a  non-literary  man  like 
me  to  explain  myself  properly,  like  that  dear  girl 
Ellen  would ;  but  I  mean  that  I  am  part  of  it  all, 
and  feel  the  pain  as  well  as  the  pleasure  in  my  own 
person.  It  is  not  done  for  me  by  somebody  else, 
merely  that  I  may  eat  and  drink  and  sleep ;  but  I 
myself  do  my  share  of  it." 

In  his  way  also,  as  Ellen  in  hers,  I  could  see  that 
Dick  had  that  passionate  love  of  the  earth  which 
was  common  to  but  few  people  at  least,  in  the  days 
I  knew, — in  which  the  prevailing  feeling  among  j 
intellectual  persons  was  a  kind  of  sour  distaste  for 
the  changing  drama  of  the  year,  for  the  life  of 
earth  and  its  dealings  with  men.  Indeed,  in  those 
days  it  was  thought  poetic  and  imaginative  to 
look  upon  life  as  a  thing  to  be  borne  rather  than 
enjoyed. 

So  I  mused  till  Dick's  laugh  brought  me  back 
into  the  Oxfordshire  haytields.  "  One  thing  seems 
strange  to  me,"  said  he,  —  "that  I  must  needs  trouble 
myself  about  the  winter  and  its  scantiness  in  the 
midst  of  the  summer  abundance.  If  it  had  n't  hap- 
pened to  me  before,  I  should  have  thought  it  was 
your  doing,  guest,  —  that  you  had  thrown  a  kind 
of  evil  charm  over  me.  Xow,  you  know,"  said  he, 
suddenly,  "  that 's  only  a  joke,  so  you  must  n't 
take  it  to  heart." 

"  All  right,"  said  I ;  "  I  don't."  Yet  I  did  feel 
somewhat  uneasy  at  his  words,  after  all. 

We  crossed  the  causeway  this  time,  and  did  not 
18 


274  NEWS   FROM   NOWHERE  ; 

turn  back  to  the  house,  but  went  along  a  path 
beside  a  field  of  wheat  now  almost  ready  to  blos- 
som. I  said  :  "  We  do  not  dine  in  the  house  or 
garden,  then  ?  "  —  as  indeed  I  did  not  expect  to  do. 
"  Where  do  we  meet,  then  ?  for  I  can  see  that  the 
houses  are  mostly  very  small." 

"Yes,"  said  Dick,  "you  are  right,  they  are  small 
in  this  countryside  ;  there  are  so  many  good  old 
houses  left  that  people  dwell  a  good  deal  in  such 
small  detached  houses.  As  to  our  dinner,  we  are 
going  to  have  our  feast  in  the  church.  I  wish,  for 
your  sake,  it  were  as  big  and  handsome  as  that  of 
the  old  Roman  town  to  the  west,  or  the  forest  town 
to  the  north ;  but,  however,  it  will  hold  us  all ;  and 
though  it  is  a  little  thing,  it  is  beautiful  in  its  way." 

This  was  somewhat  new  to  me,  this  dinner  in  a 
church ;  but  I  said  nothing,  and  presently  we  came 
out  into  the  road  which  ran  through  the  village. 
Dick  looked  up  and  down  it,  and  seeing  only  two 
straggling  groups  before  us,  said :  "  It  seems  as  if 
we  must  be  somewhat  late ;  they  are  all  gone  on ; 
and  they  will  be  sure  to  make  a  point  of  waiting 
for  you,  as  the  guest  of  guests,  since  you  come  from 
so  far." 

He  hastened  as  he  spoke,  and  I  kept  up  with  him, 
and  presently  we  came  to  a  little  avenue  of  lime- 
trees,  which  led  us  straight  to  the  church  porch, 
from  whose  open  door  came  the  sound  of  cheerful 
voices  and  laughter  and  varied  merriment. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  "  it 's  the  coolest  place  for  one 
thing,  this  hot  evening.  Come  along  ;  they  will  be 
glad  to  see  you." 

Indeed,  in  spite  of  my  bath,  I  felt  the  weather 
1  Cirencester  and  Burford,  he  must  have  meant. 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  275 

more  sultry  and  oppressive  than  on  any  day  of  our 
journey  yet. 

We  went  into  the  church,  which  was  a  simple 
little  building,  with  one  little  aisle  divided  from  the 
nave  by  three  round  arches,  a  chancel,  and  a  rather 
roomy  transept  for  so  small  a  building,  the  windows 
mostly  of  the  graceful  Oxfordshire  fourteenth-cen- 
tury type.  There  was  no  modern  architectural 
decoration  in  it ;  it  looked,  indeed,  as  if  none  had 
been  attempted  since  the  Puritans  whitewashed 
the  mediaeval  saints  and  histories  on  the  wall.  It 
was,  however,  gayly  dressed  up  for  this  latter-day 
festival,  with  festoons  of  flowers  from  arch  to  arch, 
and  great  pitchers  of  flowers  standing  about  on  the 
floor  ;  while  under  the  west  window  hung  two  cross 
scythes,  their  blades  polished  white,  and  gleaming 
from  out  of  the  flowers  that  wreathed  them.  But 
its  best  ornament  was  the  crowd  of  handsome, 
happy-looking  men  and  women  that  were  set  down 
to  table,  and  who,  with  their  bright  faces  and  rich 
hair  over  their  gay  holiday  raiment,  looked,  as  the 
Persian  poet  puts  it,  like  a  bed  of  tulips  in  the  sun. 
Though  the  church  was  a  small  one,  there  was 
plenty  of  room ;  for  a  small  church  makes  a  biggish 
house ;  and  on  this  evening  there  was  no  need  to 
set  cross  tables  along  the  transepts ;  though  doubt- 
less these  would  be  wanted  next  day,  when  the 
learned  men  of  whom  Dick  had  been  speaking 
should  be  come  to  take  their  more  humble  part  in 
the  haymaking. 

I  stood  on  the  threshold  with  the  expectant 
smile  on  my  face  of  a  man  who  is  going  to  take 
part  in  a  festivity  which  he  is  really  prepared  to 
enjoy.     Dick   standing  by  me  was  looking  round 


276  NEWS   FROM    NOWHERE  ; 

the  company  with  something  of  an  air  of  pro- 
prietorship in  them,  I  thought.  Opposite  me  sat 
Clara  and  Ellen,  with  Dick's  place  open  between 
them.  They  were  smiling,  but  their  beautiful  faces 
were  each  turned  towards  the  neighbors  on  each 
side,  who  were  talking  to  them,  and  they  did  not 
seem  to  see  me.  I  turned  to  Dick,  expecting  him 
to  lead  me  forward,  and  he  turned  his  face  to  me ; 
but  strange  to  say,  though  it  was  as  cheerful  and 
smiling  as  ever,  it  made  no  response  to  my  glance 
—  nay,  he  seemed  to  take  no  heed  at  all  of  my 
presence,  and  I  noticed  that  none  of  the  company 
looked  at  me.  A  pang  shot  through  me,  as  of  some 
disaster  long  expected  and  suddenly  realized.  Dick 
moved  on  a  little  without  a  word  to  me.  I  was 
not  three  yards  from  the  two  women  who,  though 
they  had  been  my  companions  for  such  a  short 
time,  had  really,  as  I  thought,  become  my  friends. 
Clara's  face  was  turned  full  upon  me  now,  but  she 
also  did  not  seem  to  see  me,  though  I  know  I  was 
trying  to  catch  her  eye  with  an  appealing  look.  I 
turned  to  Ellen,  and  she  did  seem  to  recognize  me 
for  an  instant ;  but  her  bright  face  turned  sad 
directly,  and  she  shook  her  head  with  a  mournful 
look,  and  the  next  moment  all  consciousness  of  my 
presence  had  faded  from  her  face. 

I  felt  lonely  and  sick  at  heart  past  the  power  of 
words  to  describe.  I  hung  about  a  minute  longer, 
and  then  turned  and  went  out  of  the  porch  again 
and  through  the  lime-avenue  into  the  road,  while 
the  blackbirds  sang  their  strongest  from  the  bushes 
about  me  in  the  hot  June  evening. 

Once  more  without  any  conscious  effort  of  will  I 
turned  my  face  toward  the  old  house  by  the  ford, 


OR,   AN   EPOCH   OF   REST.  277 

but  as  I  turned  round  the  corner  which,  led  to  the 
remains  of  the  village  cross,  I  came  upon  a  figure 
strangely  contrasting  with  the  joyous,  beautiful 
people  I  had  left  behind  in  the  church.  It  was  a 
man  who  looked  old,  but  whom  I  knew  from  habit, 
now  half-forgotten,  was  not  really  much  more  than 
fifty.  His  face  was  rugged,  and  grimed  rather  than 
dirty ;  his  eyes  dull  and  bleared ;  his  body  bent, 
his  calves  thin  and  spindly,  his  feet  dragging  and 
limping.  His  clothing  was  a  mixture  of  dirt  and 
rags  long  over-familiar  to  me.  As  I  passed  him 
he  touched  his  hat  with  some  real  good-will  and 
courtesy,  and  much  servility. 

Inexpressibly  shocked,  I  hurried  past  him  and 
hastened  along  the  road  that  led  to  the  river  and 
the  lower  end  of  the  village ;  but  suddenly  I  saw 
as  it  were  a  black  cloud  rolling  along  to  meet  me, 
like  a  nightmare  of  my  childish  days  ;  and  for  a 
while  I  was  conscious  of  nothing  else  than  being 
in  the  dark,  and  whether  I  was  walking,  or  sitting, 
or  lying  down,  I  could  not  tell. 

I  lay  in  my  bed  in  my  house  at  dingy  Hammer- 
smith thinking  about  it  all,  and  trying  to  consider 
if  I  was  overwhelmed  with  despair  at  finding  I  had 
been  dreaming  a  dream. 

Or  indeed  ivas  it  a  dream  ?  If  so,  why  was  I  so 
conscious  all  along  that  I  was  really  seeing  all  that 
new  life  from  the  outside,  still  wrapped  up  in  the 
prejudices,  the  anxieties,  the  distrust  of  this  time 
of  doubt  and  struggle  ? 

All  along,  though  those  friends  were  so  real  to 
me,  I  had  been  feeling  as  if  I  had  no  business 
among  them ;  as  though  the  time  would  come  when 


278  NEWS   FKOM  NOWHERE. 

they  would  reject  me,  and  say,  as  Ellen's  last 
mournful  look  seemed  to  say :  "  No,  it  will  not  do ; 
yon  cannot  be  of  us  ;  you  belong  so  entirely  to  the 
,yunhappiness  of  the  past  that  our  happiness  even 
'  would  weary  you.  Go  back  again,  now  you  have 
seen  us,  and  your  outward  eyes  have  learned  that 
in  spite  of  all  the  infallible  maxims  of  your  day 
there  is  yet  a  time  of  rest  in  store  for  the  world, 
when  mastery  has  changed  into  fellowship,  —  but 
not  before.  Go  back  again,  then,  and  while  you 
live  you  will  see  all  round  you  people  engaged  in 
making  others  live  lives  which  are  not  their  own, 
while  they  themselves  care  nothing  for  their  own 
real  lives,  —  men  who  hate  life  though  they  fear 
death.  Go  back,  and  be  the  happier  for  having 
seen  us,  for  having  added  a  little  hope  to  your 
struggle.  Go  on  living  while  you  may,  striving, 
with  whatsoever  pain  and  labor  needs  must  be,  to 
build  up  little  by  little  the  new  day  of  fellowship, 
and  rest,  and  happiness." 

Yes,  surely  !  and  if  others  can  see  it  as  I  have 
seen  it,  then  it  may  be  called  a  vision  rather  than 
a  dream. 


THE   END. 


MR.   WILLIAM    MORRIS'S  WORKS. 

THE  EARTHLY  PARADISE. 

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genuine  book-lover.  —  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

The  Story  of  the  Glittering  Plain.  Which  has  been  also  called  the 
Land  of  Living  Men,  or  the  Acre  of  the  Undying.    i2mo.     $1.50. 

William  Morris  comes  to  us  again  with  another  of  his  delightful  "  sagas,"  full  of 
life  and  action  and  every  essential  human  sentiment.  He  is  a  master  of  such  produc- 
tion, and  does  not  betray  himself  at  any  point  by  a  false  note  or  by  false  color.  .  .  . 
The  saga  before  us  contains  a  story  of  nappy  life  and  prospective  wedded  joy  broken 
in  upon  by  capture,  of  a  long  and  varied  search  for  his  loved  one  by  the  knight  of  the 
tale,  of  successful  return  from  all  dangers,  and  a  final  re-entrance  into  the  hall  of  the 
kindred  in  "Cleveland  by  the  Sea."  .  .  This  saga  sings  itself  through  from  begin- 
ning to  end  in  a  beautiful  melody.  The  prose  of  it  is  like  music,  and  the  little  inter- 
ludes of  song  fit  their  places  perfectly.  The  human  life  and  circumstances  of  the  saga 
are  drawn  from  ancient  Northern  times,  though  no  definite  sphere  is  entered;  and 
there  is  no  attempt  at  historical  suggestion,  as  in  "The  House  of  the  Wolfings." 
This  is  simply  a  sweet,  touching  saga  of  a  brave,  patient,  faithful  human  love.  — 
Public  Opinion. 

Poems  by  the  Way.     i2mo.     $1.25. 

Those  who  fesred  that  Mr.  William  Morris  would  be  made  less  of  a  poet  by  his 
socialism  have  had  ample  reason  to  be  disappointed.  .  .  .  The  originality  of  this 
volume  is  that  it  a  ntains  several  poems  telling  us  something  which  Mr.  Morris  has 
hardly  told  us  in  print  before.  .  .  .  The  whole  volume  not  only  betokens  a  splendid 
vitality  of  gift  with  surprises  yet  in  store,  but  recalls  at  every  turn  that  its  author  is 
one  of  a  famous  fraternity,  of  whom  one  other  still  survives,  and  who  have  been 
animated,  despite  all  their  differences,  by  a  certain  common  spirit,  and  endowed  with 
a  similar  cunning  in  the  craft  of  song.  —  The  Academy. 

The  Wood  Beyond  the  World.  In  a  crown  8vo  volume,  printed 
on  antique  English  paper,  with  decorative  cover.  Frontispiece 
by  E.  Burne-Jones.     $2.50. 

The  charm,  or  one  of  the  charms,  of  this  last  book  of  his  is  more  easily  felt  than 
described,  and  is  only  felt  in  the  feelings,  we  think,  by  those  who  are  enamoured  of 
the  invention  which  underlies  all  folk-lore,  the  element  of  fantasy,  with  or  without  a 
seeming  purpose,  containing  in  itself  its  excuse  for  being,  and  are  enamoured  at  the 
same  time  of  the  simple,  homely,  idiomatic  diction  which  characterized  the  early 
chroniclers  and  romancers,  and  of  which  Malory's  "  Morte  d' Arthur"  is  a  fair 
example.  At  the  age  of  sixty,  or  thereabouts,  he  is  still  pouring  out  his  lovely  things, 
more  full  of  the  glory  of  vouth,  more  full  of  romantic  adventure  and  romantic  love, 
than  any  of  the  beautifufpoems  in  his  first  volume.  By  the  side  of  this  exhaustless 
creator  of  youthful  and  lovely  things,  the  youngest  of  the  poets  who  have  just  appeared 
above  the  horizou  seems  faded  and  jaded.  —  Mail  and  Express. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN  &  CO.,  Publishers, 
91  and  93  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York. 


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